Harry Potter and the Soul of Chaos
by fireoftwilight
Summary: Post HBP. The end is coming and everything will change. Nowhere is safe, old protections fail and worlds are about to collide. In the middle of the maelstrom is Harry Potter, alone and bereft of guidance. It is time for one last adventure....
1. Prologue

**_Harry Potter and the Soul of Chaos_**

Prologue – Dark and Dangerous Times Lie Ahead

_We need help, the poet reckoned._

_Edward Dorn_

A scattering of silver stars burnt in the night sky, shining with their ever-lasting radiance. It was a night of destiny, of great happenings and of forging paths of choice. The moon was a sharp sickle crescent hanging above a rocky summit, a mountain, whose dark silhouette shadowed the glowing lake, which was a reflection of the sky itself.

Despite the warmth of summer, it was a cold night. Across the vast lake a rolling mist was slowly spreading, shielding the reflective surface from the never-changing night sky. And like the cold of the night, it was not natural.

The lake lay in a valley of the large mountainous range of Glencoe, in Scotland. It was out of the way, and for most of the year no one came near it. The nearest road was three miles to the east. It truly was isolated... and evil.

A seething mass of decaying flesh was the source of the unnatural cold and mist. Dementors, one of magic's mistakes, and Inferi, one of mankind's mistakes, were the source of this... unnaturalness. Nine hundred and twenty two Dementors floated around the now dead and frozen valley, fast spreading across the lake as they continued to breed, to swell their numbers and serve their dark master.

Inferi, two hundred and fifty undead corpses, walked amongst the mass of Dementors. Soulless husks of men and women who had been forcibly raised from their graves, bound to a creature that the Grim Reaper himself would be wise to fear.

The valley had become a staging ground for a series of attacks planned by Lord Voldemort against the world – both the Magic and Muggle worlds – had become a nest for the strongest concentration of dark creatures on the planet.

The Dark Lord himself stood on a rise overlooking the valley. His red eyes smouldered softly in the darkness; his pale skin seemed almost grey in the moonlight. Garbed in billowing black robes, what light there was seemed to die around the thin form of Lord Voldemort.

Also on the crest above the valley were half a dozen of his servants, of his Death Eaters. One recently initiated and five in his service over twenty years. Of those five, one was honoured amongst all overs, and it was he who approached the Dark Lord now, he alone with the backbone to speak before being spoken to.

Severus Snape was garbed equally in black robes, and as he stood this close to Voldemort his Dark Mark prickled hotly, almost painful but not quite. A subtle reminder that he was branded, owned, and that his owner was nearby. Snape had, since June, been receiving private tutoring lessons from the Dark Lord in the dark arts... a _reward_ no other Death Eater could have ever claimed to have.

For it had been three weeks since Severus had cast the spell that ended Albus Dumbledore's life, three weeks since he had fled Hogwarts with Draco Malfoy in tow, and three weeks since he fulfilled his Unbreakable Vow. Well... _vows._

"This is impressive, my lord," Severus whispered, his Occlumency shields intact and at full strength. Only a determined, full on attack by a Master Legimens would gain access to his mind.

"An army fit to change the world, Severus," Voldemort hissed without turning around. His red gaze was kept solely on the valley of dark creatures.

_Or destroy it,_ Severus thought. "Indeed, my lord. Any opposition will... be crushed by this force."

Surprising Snape, Voldemort laughed – cackled – and it cut through the cold of the night like a knife. "There will be very little opposition once the world sees my true strength. No, at the least we can expect a valiant yet futile effort from Scrimgeour. Can you see the Ministry surviving an attack by an army three times as large as this one?"

Snape inclined his head in the darkness. "I cannot," he replied truthfully.

"Months now, Severus," Voldemort continued quietly into the night. "Too long have I waged this war and been denied victory by the accursed Light. What time they had has been reduced to mere months now, with what we accomplished at Hogwarts."

"I live to serve," Snape bowed.

Voldemort grinned. It wasn't a happy grin. "Yes," he said. "You do... But come now, Severus. You are my most loyal Death Eater, my greatest servant, my right hand, even. When this world ends in ice and fire you will be there at my side as we reforge it anew. The future is ours."

_Not if I've anything to say about it,_ Snape thought and then, unexpectedly, added, _or Potter. _That brought a scowl to his face, but in the darkness it was masked in shadows. "What are your orders, my lord?"

Voldemort mused silently for a moment. "Draco Malfoy," he hissed. "He is to be given another chance to prove his worth. Tell Bella to cease her torture of the boy... he has learnt his lesson I think."

_He learnt it within the first hour_, Severus whispered in his mind.

"And, Severus," Voldemort continued. "Failure this time is not an option for him. Punishment for it will be death."

"I'll make sure he understands."

Voldemort nodded and continued to survey his dark army with a madman's glint in his crimson eyes. "Then you are dismissed."

Severus bowed before disapparating, leaving the five other Death Eaters behind, and reappeared in his home at Spinner's End. As soon as he arrived in the sitting room, Snape drove his fist into the nearby wall, cutting off a string of curses and breaking the plaster.

As they had done almost every minute of his life since that night at Hogwarts, his thoughts turned to the man he had killed, had not even hesitated to kill. Albus Dumbledore. A man who had risked everything to battle darkness his entire life, a man who had seen some good in Severus Snape when he himself could not see it.

A man who Snape had, over the years, come to respect and think of as a mentor, someone to look up to, someone he... could call a friend. And in the end, his promise to the old man had won out atop of that tower.

Severus thought back to the argument the two of them had had, after he had revealed the truth – that he had made an Unbreakable Vow with Narcissa Malfoy to _kill_ him should Draco Malfoy fail to do so. Dumbledore, with his unbreakable morals, had asked of him a promise, a vow – not an unbreakable one, as no one could be trusted to cast it – but one that meant more than the magical vow.

"_Promise me, Severus, should this come about you will fulfil that vow – I will not see you dead, not when you will be in a position to gain the knowledge I... Harry needs to end this war."_

"_I will not—"_

"_A vow, my friend," Dumbledore cut in, smiling quite calmly. His eyes... By God, he was sealing his own doom and those damn eyes still twinkled. "Promise me that you will end my life if Draco Malfoy fails to do so. It is the only way we can win this war, I fear, the only way the children of this school can survive, the only way Harry can live..."_

"Damn you, Potter," Snape breathed, slumping into his armchair and holding his head in his hands. His skin had grown haggard over the last three weeks, and even paler. Stress, guilt, regret, pain, bitterness... He wanted to die. "Damn you, Albus, for making me do it."

Snape summoned his bottle of Firewhiskey. It was half-empty, but it was enough to make him forget for awhile. Slowly he was gaining more and more of the Dark Lord's trust. Slowly he was being brought into his confidences, his most secret plans. In time, he thought, the Dark Lord would get careless and reveal the location to one of his Horcruxes.

But time was something they no longer had, not after seeing that army tonight. Snape knew he would have to step up his tutoring with the Dark Lord, spend more time with the creature and hope, pray even, that he could discern the location of the soul fragments. Nothing was of greater importance.

Severus would be quite happy if he died with the world thinking he was a loyal Death Eater, the murderer of Albus Dumbledore, if he could only take a horcrux or two with him.

* * *

_Rome  
July 9th_

Matthew Tristan held the shaking and ragged body of Merton, one of the men he had come to for information before. He smelt terrible, as he lay dying in Matt's arms, and his skin was oily, revolting. Merton charged a lot for the information he collected, but it was always right, always true – and that made him dangerous. Someone, or some_thing,_ had killed him for what he had learnt.

"Tristan," he growled, his grizzled face streaked with blood, on the last of his strength. "The legend is true... It's out there, just waiting to be found."

Matt stared without blinking into the dead man's eyes, his form suddenly rigid. Reddish black hair lay atop his head, over grey eyes that had seen a lot in the twenty five years he had been alive. His clothes were Muggle; draped over a well-built athletic form. Everything about him screamed Muggle, down to his Nike cross-trainers, save the wand in the leather holster strapped around his wrist.

"What is, Merton?" Matt asked. "Damn it, what happened?"

Merton, damn him, managed a weak smile that was fading as fast as his life. His teeth were blood stained; his grey hair was matted to his head.

"The Chosen One," he grimaced. "The man with the power to... either... save or... or destroy the world. Prophecy..." Blood flowed freely from the large wound in Merton's chest, the gaping hole that cut right through his left lung. He hadn't just been killed, he'd been butchered. "He can... he can... _open_ the way. Save us, Matt, he can lead you to the Source!

Matt snapped his head back fast and looked down at Merton incredulously. That could not be true... it was a myth, nothing more. Matt's mouth hung open in shock, and at seeing that Merton managed a weak laugh. It was weak, not like the usual snickering laughter the man produced.

Vaguely, Matt realised then that he was going to miss this old bastard.

"It can't be..." Tristan breathed.

"The Source exists... it always has... Matt."

Matt was sweating now, his eyes wide with... awe. "No... how did you—?"

Merton laughed again at that, harshly. "Sold my soul to the devil," he growled, his eyes now fluttering uncontrollably. He was going. "For my life... I was given the chance to ask one question..."

Hearing that, Matt let Merton fall back to the carpeted floor, slick with his blood, and scurried back, his eyes fearful and jeans thick with the man's blood. He couldn't have done that... used the Mirror... no, a demon had killed him! He'd contacted the spirit world for an answer to a question humans should not have asked. God above, Merton was damned for eternity.

Matt couldn't believe it – none of it. "What killed you, Merton?"

The only answer he got was a low, guttural gurgling from the now soulless body of Merton, his associate and one time friend. Matt stood, shaking, and it was then that he heard the other _being_ in the room.

A low growl emanated from behind the desk near the far wall. Behind that a window looked out upon the night and the city of Rome. Matt hesitated, a sofa between him and the desk, but a table between him and the door. He flicked his wrist and caught his wand in his left hand, taking a slow step back.

His foot had barely touched the ground before the desk simply exploded into a million fragments, and a ball of liquid fire burnt those fragments to nothing and set the room alight. Matt screamed, jumped backwards, rolled over the table and made for the door as if the fires of Hell were after him.

Funnily enough, they were.

Matt ran into the corridor of the Muggle apartment block and sprinted down the corridor. Behind him he heard the outer wall of the corridor, Merton's wall, explode outwards much like the desk.

_Bugger_, he thought when he reached the elevator. He pushed the button and then turned, feeling a great heat rush up his back. The hallway had become an inferno in seconds and the white hot flames were fast burning along the walls and carpet towards him. Within them, shrouded in smoke, two glowing red eyes narrowed. That was all he could see of the demon that had crossed over from its own world, and into this one.

"Mother of God," Matt whispered, pressing the button with his closed fist repeatedly. It was no good.

Off to his right a door led to the stairs, but he was twelve floors up. This creature could probably... no, could definitely catch him by then. He knew the truth now, or at least part of it, and Hell wanted him for it. The Source was real! That thought made his head spin, or maybe it was the smoke?

No matter, his life was in danger, and he had always acted on instinct in these situations. Matt powered through the door and onto the stone stairs. Fire followed him as he raced down to the ground floor. He made it down six floors before the metal railings above him began to melt and pour down liquid white hot metal upon him.

"_Protego!"_ he shouted, raising a shield and leaning back against the wall, which was heating up fast. He looked up into the bright flames and could see their centre, where the creature was, moving fast down the stairs after him. Swearing, cursing his luck, Matt tried to Apparate to the ground floor but discovered he couldn't. Something was blocking him.

A deep throbbing laughter from the demon gave him his answer as to who that was. What was left to do?

To stay still was death, to move down the stairs was death, and to face the creature was death. _None very good options_, Matt thought absently, searching for a fourth. He had always worked best when his back was up against the wall, as it literally was now.

The closer the demon got, its form still shrouded in fire, the hotter it became. Matt was sweating buckets, and could feel the skin on his arm blistering. He needed to get to the ground floor, and to Courtney, who was waiting in the foyer of the apartment building.

He remembered something his mentor had once told him about facing enemies stronger than yourself.

_When you find yourself outclassed, Tristan, just remember one thing. Everything has a weakness – exploit it and run._

That was all good and well, but what weakness could a demon, spawned in Hell itself, have? Fire was definitely out of the question, and it was way too hot to combat it with ice. So what was left?

Nothing came to mind, and the creature was now only two flights of stairs above him.

Before him, across the landing, was a door that led onto the fifth floor. Molten metal was dripping down between him and that door, but it was his only chance now. Glancing at the metal drops, at the spreading fire and red stone above his head, and at the door, Matt made a jump for it_ across _the space that separated the stairs and the five storey drop between them.

A blob of sizzling metal hit his back and his clothes ignited, his back burnt and he hit the opposite wall hard, grimacing and cursing. Not waiting to put out his clothes, Matt blasted the door off its hinges and stepped into the cooler air of the fifth floor. It was like every other floor, doors on either side and at the end a window that looked out onto Rome.

Free for a moment, Matt drenched himself with water and cast a freezing charm on the air. People were starting to emerge from their rooms at this point, obviously drawn by the noise of a demon making its way down the stairs.

That reminded him – there was a demon coming down the stairs. Matt sprinted down the hall, shouting for everyone to get back in their rooms, telling them that the stairs were on fire. No good.

About three-quarters of the way down the corridor, Matt chanced a glance over his shoulder and swore. A vaguely man shaped creature stood at the door to the stairs; it was wreathed in fire, shining almost white across its body. He could smell the sulphur from where he stood. Innocent Muggles in the hall screamed and dived for their rooms.

The demon roared and raised its arms. A tongue of white hot flame shot out and widened, blazing down the corridor at a phenomenal speed, hitting the floor and ceiling, scorching everything in its path.

Once again Matt swore. He was left with nowhere to run. But he had been trained to always look for another option... and there was one. The only option left was to...

Matt, bleeding and burnt, still in a state of shock and disbelief over what had happened in the last ten minutes, threw himself at the thin window and fell in a shower of glass into the night air, five floors up, just as the tongue of flame exploded out of the corridor behind him, lighting up this part of Rome for miles around.

Matt fell. He was on fire again and not having a great night. There was nothing to break his fall except the concrete of the sidewalk. Nevertheless, he had one or two tricks up his sleeve. A... modification to the traditional use of the shield charm would work here. It would hurt like hell, but he probably wouldn't break anything.

"_Protego!"_ he cried, pointing his wand towards the fast approaching ground.

The shield charm flared to life five metres above the ground, above a few concerned looking people watching him fall with their hands over their faces and shock in their eyes. The charm would only last a moment.

Matt hit it; hit his own shield as he fell. It shattered of course, not made for such a physical attack, but Matt felt his momentum slow. For an instant he almost stopped, atop of the whole shield charm, but then it shattered and dispelled into the ether. It was like running head on into a brick wall, but it slowed him down. Winded, Matt fell again the remaining five metres, falling head on into the concrete.

No, not having a good night at all. He did a bit more cursing.

He also, unfortunately, bit his lip as he landed. And that was what actually hurt the worst, even brought tears to his eyes.

Concerned citizens, Muggles, rushed over to him as he rolled over and looked up at the towering inferno the apartment complex had become in so short a time. The demon was still up there, in its heart, burning the building down around it. Matt struggled to sit up and draw breath.

A tourist, a pair of tourists by the looks of things, asked him in a strong American accent, "Je-sus! You okay, buddy?"

Matt managed to give the man and his wife a thumbs up, slowly crawling to his feet. He was sore all over, but there was still one thing left to do. He ran back towards the doors of the apartment building, pushing through the crowd that were only too happy to jump out of his way. Thankfully, the fall had put the flames out in his clothes again.

"Courtney?" he called, running through the revolving doors. She was right where he left her reading a magazine twenty minutes ago, before he had gone upstairs and found Merton dying. She wasn't reading her magazine now. The fire alarm was blaring loudly and she had been watching the lift and stairs for him.

At the sound of his voice, she turned round and her eyes widened when she took him in. "What did you do?" she exclaimed, rushing over. "Jump out of the window?"

"Yeah," Matt said calmly, "I did. But we've not time for that now, babe. Big trouble – let's go."

He grasped her hand and they ran. Well, Matt limped. He had really begun to feel his injuries. Courtney was a Muggle. She had blonde hair, blue eyes and a smile that could stop traffic. She had been with Matt for a number of years now, having saved his life when he was twenty. Since then, she'd taken up with him – a real relationship – and gotten into his line of work.

Matt was a treasure hunter. He could use magic, something that had taken Courtney a few weeks to get her head around, but he preferred doing most things the normal way. He travelled across the planet searching for relics, magical or not, and sold them to the highest bidder. He was wanted in more than one country for... _damages_ to property... and a few broken international laws.

"What's going on?" Courtney asked as she followed Matt out of the building. "Did Merton kick you out of the window?"

Matt raced down the street with Courtney towards their car. "Nothing as lovely as that. Merton's dead, Court," he panted. "Did something stupid and paid for it. We all might pay for it..."

"The building's burning down!" she exclaimed, looking over her shoulder and up into the raging maelstrom of fire and heat.

Matt managed a small smile. "Tell me about it."

In better shape than Matt, Courtney soon overtook him as they ran for the car, parked on the corner, and she was soon dragging him along. Fumbling for the key, she jammed it into the driver's side door when they reached the blue Audi and yanked the door open fast. In the distance she could hear the sirens.

Matt being Matt, he slid across the bonnet smoothly, leaving a trail of black ash and a bit of blood smeared across it, and pulled open the passenger door, getting into the vehicle.

"Drive, honey," he whispered, leaning back in his seat as Courtney keyed the ignition. Finally given a chance to catch his breath, Matt leant back into his seat and really felt the pain of his injuries.

He was alive though, and that was what mattered. He was also the only person on the planet that knew the greatest mystery of all time could be solved; every question about life could be answered. The only person alive who knew the universe's dirty little secret.

The Source was real! One hell of a treasure to be found. Matt had just become the most hunted man in more than one world.

* * *

**_Hello everyone. This is my first attempt at writing anything so please be brutally honest and tear it apart if it is rubbish. Please review, I really want to know what you think. Next chapter will be Harry's POV, most of the story - like 99 will be Harry's POV. Just setting the scene for a big ending I've got planned._**

**_PLEASE REVIEW!_**

**_Next chapter out soon. Thanks,_**

**_--twilight_**


	2. We Begin With the Heroes

_**Harry Potter and the Soul of Chaos**_

Chapter 1 – We Begin With the Heroes

_The beginnings of all human undertakings  
are untidy. _

Anonymous

_July 15th_

It had all really started with Albus Dumbledore's death, Harry knew. His true role in this war had begun the moment Snape stepped out onto that tower with the intent of killing the elderly headmaster. With that death, the death of hope, the handle of this war had been passed to him, even if no one acknowledged that.

After the term ended and after Dumbledore's funeral, Harry had returned to the Dursleys for all of ten days as he thought about and learnt to accept what the old headmaster had left for him with his death. It had not been a teary farewell two days ago at Privet Drive, when the Order had come and taken him to the Burrow. Still, in that time he had done a lot of thinking.

First and foremost was the responsibility that he now carried. To himself, to the wizarding world, to his friends. Voldemort was his problem now, had really always been his problem, because he had come to realise he believed in the prophecy. It gave him a fighting chance at least.

So, ten days spent at the Dursleys in which he did not speak to them once, bought his own meals from the corner shop, and waited out the week seriously thinking about what he was going to do with his life from this point on. Well... really how he was going to find and destroy the remaining four Horcruxes, the four parts of Voldemort's soul before facing the monster himself and ending the war.

Harry currently sat in the garden at the Burrow, on the dry stone wall that ran around the house and most of the property. Over to his right he could see a forest, only a quarter of a mile away, and on his left was the odd collection of pieces of houses that had been thrown together to create the Burrow.

Down in the garden, the gnomes were currently under a forced exodus as Crookshanks, Hermione's cat, had been capturing them all morning and... well, _reducing_ their population exponentially.

Dressed in a simple pair of jeans and an old t-shirt, Harry had his wand shoved into his front pocket, alongside the heavy locket for which Dumbledore had really given his life for. The false horcrux, the one Harry had taken from Dumbledore's body at the base of the tower...

For the hundredth time that week, Harry unfolded the piece of parchment that had been in the locket, the only clue he had as to who had taken the real horcrux – and whether or not it had been destroyed. He had to find it to make sure. The parchment was falling apart from the number of times it had been creased, but Harry wanted to see the words again, even though he knew them off by heart.

_To the Dark Lord_

_I know I will be dead long before you read this  
but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret.  
__I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can.  
__I face death in the hope that when you meet your match,  
you will be mortal once more._

_R.A.B._

"R.A.B..." Harry muttered into the warm morning air. He absently pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and sighed.

Harry had shown this note to no one, and for now that was the way it was going to stay. Whether this Horcrux, the locket – the real one – was destroyed or not Voldemort could not know about it and create another one. It seemed he could not sense when one of his Horcruxes was destroyed... and that made sense really. They were not in him anymore, he couldn't feel them, but they were his soul, Voldemort's life.

But then again maybe he could sense their destruction. Harry didn't know and couldn't ask anyone about it. Seven was the magical number and he'd created six Horcruxes to achieve that... but two were destroyed leaving four. One was maybe Nagini... another Slytherin's Locket... Hufflepuff's cup... Ravenclaw or Gryffindor artefact... Bugger...

Harry rubbed his temple, over his hot prickly scar, as he was getting a headache from thinking about it. He shook his head to clear it, realising he'd already broken his promise to himself that he would not think about this today.

Today was his day off, so to speak. Saturday, his first at the Burrow, and there were plans afoot for the day – wedding plans, shopping plans – which meant Diagon Alley. So folding the parchment over again, Harry slipped it into his pocket and jumped off the wall, almost landing on a gnome which muttered a string of curses after him as he strode towards the house.

About halfway across the gravel of the yard the kitchen door opened and Ginny, dressed in jeans and a white blouse, emerged and waved him over, smiling warmly as she did.

"We're about ready to leave, Harry," she said, her auburn hair shining in the sun down to her waist.

"Right," he called, jogging forwards. "I'll just nip upstairs and grab a jacket."

She held the door for him and then followed him as far as the living room. Harry continued on up the stairs... trying not to think about Voldemort... or Ginny.

Okay, so there was Voldemort. And then there was Ginny.

Despite what he had said to her just after Dumbledore's funeral, which was another thing he did not want to think about, he could not just simply _turn_ _off_ his feelings for the fiery redhead. They were still there, strong as ever, and both he and Ginny knew it.

It would have been a damn-sight easier if he could switch his hormones and feelings off, but it wasn't going to happen. Ginny, bless her, was a problem, a good problem, one Harry would like to solve a certain way – but knew he couldn't... ever.

Because, of course, the Ginny-problem was linked with the Voldemort-problem. Distancing himself, Harry believed, might be the only thing that saved Ginny Weasley. But she wasn't making it easy, and neither was Hermione.

Ron, being Ron, was oblivious to most of the inner workings of the problem.

But Ginny over the last two days had almost always seemed to be there when he was alone, or thinking about her, and Harry suspected Hermione was spying on him for Ginny, which was very unlike Hermione, but he wasn't a complete idiot not to notice it.

Bloody friends and their bloody plots against him.

Harry was chuckling under his breath when he kicked his trunk open in Ron's room and pulled out his jacket, slipping it on as he exited the room and darted back down the stairs to the fireplace.

"You are to wait at the Leaky Cauldron for all of us to arrive before we move into the alley, Ron," Mrs Weasley was saying when he arrived. "Ah Harry, dear, you're here – good. Line up everyone."

The sitting room was packed with the Weasley flock, plus Harry, Hermione and Fleur. Ron, Ginny, Mrs Weasley, Bill, Fred (not George), and Charlie. Everyone save Harry and his friends were wearing robes and a cloak. Bill and Fleur were making final arrangements on their wedding today, and Mrs Weasley would be helping. Fred was off to the shop and Charlie... well, Charlie was coming along as an extra wand, really, should the worst happen.

"What do reckon, Harry, Quidditch shop first up?" Ron said as they lined up in front of the fireplace.

"Charlie, you first, dear," Mrs Weasley said, holding the dish of floo powder.

A moment later Charlie disappeared in a blur of green flames and blue cloak.

"Gringotts for me," Harry answered Ron. "I've got about three galleons and two knuts at the moment."

"_Diagon Alley,_" Bill said from the fireplace.

Harry watched him go with a frown, trying hard not to look at the scars on his face. Greyback had certainly done a good job of tearing his face to shreds, and even now, three weeks later, magic and Muggle medicines had only managed to fade the coarse lines minutely. Given time, they'd probably get better...

Bill had a lot more wolf in him than was probably healthy as well. He enjoyed his meat almost blood rare, and he was a lot more hairy than the last time Harry had seen him at the end of term... after Dumbledore had...

_Stop it, Potter,_ he told himself. _Today is not for that!_

No, a thick beard covered Bill's cheeks and neck, flaming orange of course, and it hid some of the scars. His eyes were wolfish as well. Fleur still loved him and, since his fight with the vicious werewolf, followed him everywhere with her wand always at the ready. She was next through the floo network, elegance and beauty second nature to her as the green flames whisked her away.

Fred went next

"Has anyone seen the _Prophet_ today?" Harry asked, trying hard to keep the dread out of his voice. It seemed when the whole world wasn't against him, it was behind him, and the mood varied on the whim of that paper. There had been a lot of owls since the term ended, with people declaring their support for him... or not.

"No," Hermione said. "I don't have a subscription for the Saturday paper."

"Unless you go out and capture some Death Eaters," Ginny said, "then the Chosen One probably won't make the front page."

"Or they'll just start making the news up," Ron offered, snickering, slapping him on the back and pushing him forward into the fireplace. Ron had enjoyed reading the comments some people had made in their letters, most of them female in the 18-25 age bracket.

"Your concern is overwhelming," Harry commented dryly, taking a pinch of floo powder from Mrs Weasley.

Dropping it, he said, "_Diagon Alley,_" and a moment before the flames took him he winked at Ginny, his lips quirking into a small smile.

If she could play games with him then he could with her. _Keep 'em guessing!_ Harry had heard that somewhere before and thought it genius right then. He knew he should keep her at arm's length, but what with all that had happened and his new found freedom away from the Dursleys forever, he was feeling a little rebellious.

Even against himself and his own rules concerning Ginny, it seemed, as he tucked his elbows in and spun passed grates in a whirlwind of ash and magic. He managed a not-so-steady landing in the Leaky Cauldron five seconds later, almost falling until Charlie grabbed him underarm and hauled him up.

"The trick is to bend your knees a little more," Charlie laughed, and Harry scowled, mumbling under his breath whilst brushing the soot from his clothes.

"'Ere, 'Arry," Fleur said, one arm around Bill, waving her wand in his direction. There was no incantation but Harry felt a warm breeze and then his clothes were soot free.

"Cheers," he said, as Ron came stumbling through the fireplace and landed in a tangled heap on the ground, washing a new wave of soot and ash over Harry.

"Bugger," he sighed, brushing it away again but only succeeding in smudging it in. Fleur laughed and cast the cleaning charm again on him and then Ron, once he'd stood up.

Ginny and Hermione came through next, one after the other, and only stumbled slightly – something which made Ron sigh, and finally Mrs Weasley walked through briskly, looking busy and showing not a sign of the floo-stumble that had afflicted Ron and Harry.

Ginny did not show any sign that she had caught Harry's sly smile, but he was sure she had.

"We were pushed through pretty fast," Mrs Weasley commented, counting heads. "Floo network must be busy today."

"I'll say," Ron grumbled. "Didn't see it coming..."

As a group they made their way out of the back of the pub and towards Diagon Alley. The brick wall was already 'up' and the alley busy with weekend shoppers. Fred said his goodbyes and immediately headed off towards Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, which, despite the threat of war, was still doing a roaring trade.

Harry and the others wanted to pop in later on, but first...

"Follow me you lot," Mrs Weasley said to the group. "Bill, Fleur, dear, should we do the flowers first? Or the wedding robes?"

Bill was stroking his beard, but since they'd flooed in Harry had seen him scanning everything and everyone that came close. His sharp eyes didn't miss a thing, and Harry was certain he was grasping his wand in his pocket.

"This lot won't want to come along for all of that, Mum," he said, motioning towards Harry and the others. "Nor will Charlie, for that matter."

Ron and Ginny were nodding and, after a moment, Charlie did as well. Fleur was also watching the magical folk in the alley, but she agreed with her husband to be. "We will be done much quicker, this way," she said.

Mrs Weasley bit her lip in indecision. "It mightn't be a good idea to split up," she said carefully.

"We'll be right, Mum," Ron laughed. "The Chosen One here can fend off anything, except Ginny!"

Ginny stamped her foot and hit Ron in the arm none too gently.

Harry glared daggers at Ron, punched him in the arm also, and then nodded. "Yeah, Mrs Weasley," he said. "I'll even watch over Charlie if he wants to come along."

"Thanks, Harry," Charlie smiled.

"Well..." Mrs Weasley said eventually. "If Charlie's going with you..."

It was settled at that. They decided to meet back at the Leaky Cauldron in and hour or two and then Mrs Weasley, Fleur and Bill headed off one way down the alley together, whilst Charlie, Ginny, Harry, Ron and Hermione made a quick line for Gringotts, the wizarding bank.

Just like last year, the alley was a whole lot different than it had been before. The Ice Cream Parlour, as well as a few other shops and stores, were still boarded up. Posters from the Ministry were pasted over the windows, detailing the latest war news and safety procedures, and there were still the shoddy little stores selling everything from werewolf protection to veela aphrodisiac.

Harry kept his head down as they walked, not wanting to be recognised. It would only take one voice screaming his name to cause a flood of people wanting to see, wanting to talk to, wanting to touch their Chosen One – the Boy Who Lived. There was a strong Auror presence, in the alley, Harry noticed.

Almost at every shop door stood a man or woman in the white robes of an Auror, eying the busy street suspiciously. Harry would also bet his wand that there were Aurors not wearing robes as well.

It made Harry wonder if Hogwarts would open again on September 1st. The Ministry wanted it to, mainly because of the potential anarchy that would reign if hundreds of magical children grew up without an education, and the Muggleborns never even learnt of the wizarding world. But the parents weren't happy with the safety of the school...

If Albus Dumbledore could be killed by a professor at Hogwarts itself, then what chance did a half trained teenager have. It was being heavily debated by the Wizengamot and the Board of Governors. Undecided at the last meeting three days ago.

"I don't want to spend the day in the Quidditch supply store, Ron," Hermione said as the group approached Gringotts. "You three probably will, but with things as they are I want to buy the books for seventh year..."

"What?" Ron said, hands in his pockets. "All of them?"

Hermione blushed. "Well... yes..."

Ron was silent for a moment, and he looked at Hermione as if he were confused. "Great," he eventually said. "Yeah... em... it might be a good idea to teach ourselves."

Ron seemed as shocked as Hermione was that he had said that. But his shock faded into a blush of his own when Hermione beamed at him and brushed his hand with hers.

Harry smiled at the two of them, and he agreed with what Ron had said. He wanted to buy some books as well. Defence books, and some offensive ones. Books containing strong, powerful and deadly curses, jinxes, incantations, and hexes. Also on Occlumency and how better to hone his silent magic.

Snape – he even snarled when he thought of that name – had stopped him easily that night where... when Dumbledore had... and if he'd been faster, quicker, stealthier then maybe the bastard would be buried under six feet of cold earth now.

"What're you glaring at, Harry?" Ron asked as they walked up the steps of the bank towards the ornate marble doors.

Harry, with a great deal of difficulty, managed to wipe away the scowl. "Same old, same old," he sighed. "Snape, Voldemort, life..."

Ron nodded. "We'll beat them all," he said, briefly clapping Harry on the shoulder.

They entered Gringotts.

Riding a cart through a cave at high speeds had lost a lot of its thrill since Harry had done it the first time on his eleventh birthday. Too much had happened for it to be much of an adrenalin rush now and it was, as he and Ginny with their goblin guide careened through the caves and tunnels, rather boring.

The swinging cart came to a screeching stop in front of Harry's vault, number 687, and they all climbed out. Ginny stepped over Harry to do it, and nudged him back into his seat with a sly smile. Harry mentally made a note that that was one point to her. He would win it back with interest somehow.

Again, showing no sign that anything untoward had happened, Ginny and Harry waited whilst the goblin, whose name was Tuskstrorn, stepped out of the cart with a small lantern.

"Key, please," Tuskstrorn said, wobbling forward towards the intricately locked security door.

Harry handed the little fellow his key.

"Now, Mr Potter," the goblin said, setting about opening the door. "With the transfer of the late Sirius Black's funds last year, the security on your vault has been increased exponentially. These new security measures came into effect on the night of July 31st, last year."

Harry sighed, it was a tired sigh, but one mixed with acceptance. Sirius was gone, gone beyond life into a place Harry did not want to follow yet. Couldn't follow, even if he wanted to die... there was still too much for him to do in this world. "What measures?" he asked the goblin.

"A drop of your blood is now required to open the last lock," Tuskstrorn answered. "If it is not your blood, should you be an impostor under glamour or polyjuice, then the dragons will be summoned immediately."

Harry swallowed slowly, thankful he was himself, and held out his hand towards the small sharp point on the door, as directed by the goblin. He wondered if Voldemort, who had his blood, could open the door. The sharp needle pricked the tip of his index finger and a clear drop of crimson blood flowed down its length.

For a long moment nothing happened, and Harry strained his ears very hard, listening for the wings of a dragon. The goblin was grinning, showing a lot of pointed teeth, and Ginny seemed amused as well. The door swung open a second later.

It swung open to reveal several hillocks of gold, many times inflated since the last time Harry had been here. His jaw dropped as torches flared to life in the vault around the _far_ wall and glittered off the piles of gold, silver and bronze that arced up towards the ceiling. Harry half expected to see snow and low lying clouds on the peaks of the coins.

"Well," he managed. "Colour me surprised."

"Due to the large amount of present funds, and the growing interest," the goblin guide said, stepping into the vault after Harry and Ginny had entered it. "Gringotts has provided you with a range of magically enchanted purses – you can see them hanging on the wall to your left – for your convenience. They range in size, small to large, and are feather light even when full."

Harry nodded. "Tell the bank I appreciate it." He discarded the small grey bag he had been planning on filling full of gold and walked over to the wall and the leather purses hanging on hooks.

"What'd you think, Gin?" he asked. "Can I get away with calling it a wallet?"

Ginny smirked. "It's a change purse, Harry, and Ron'll see it as that."

Harry sighed and took down the nearest purse. It took a few minutes to cram it full of gold – it was bigger on the inside than out – but weighed nothing when he tied the gilded cord around his belt so it hung down alongside his jeans.

One short boring cart ride back to the surface later and Harry and Ginny were reunited with Charlie, Hermione and Ron in the bank's foyer, where the counters were bursting with patrons and goblins counting gold or precious stones. Charlie handed Ginny a small bag of coins and Hermione had a bag of her own from converting Muggle money. They headed back out towards the alley.

About three quarters of the way across the foyer, someone nearby in the crowd of people near a teller shouted, "HARRY POTTER!"

Almost as if it had been choreographed, Ron and Hermione moved up to flank Harry from either side, Charlie got his back and Ginny boxed him in from the front. They increased their pace towards the door, pulling Harry along, and were soon back out in the sunlight of Diagon Alley.

"That was quick thinking," Harry commented, his voice tight, once they had moved a fair way down the street. "And beautifully executed," he continued. "One might think it was planned in advance."

Ron, at least, had the grace enough to look at his feet. Hermione and Ginny had such expressions of innocence on their faces that Harry knew they had arranged it, if something like that happened. Charlie just shrugged, smiled uncertainly, and shoved his hands into his pockets.

Harry appreciated the gesture, of course, but he could not like it – ever. What was to stop a Death Eater blasting away a part of his human shield to reach him? Nothing at all was the answer, and Harry would be damned if his friends would die for this war. He gave them all a look which said they would talk about this later, and then moved off on his own towards Flourish and Blotts.

By silent agreement, it wasn't mentioned again.

The bell on the door rang as they entered the bookshop, which wasn't as busy as Harry had expected it to be. Maybe half a dozen customers he could see were wandering through the shelves of books, when on a day like today the store should have been bursting at the seams.

"We'll need both the normal and advanced books for seventh year," Hermione said once they were all inside. "Though we won't need Divination, or a few others, but it'll take some time to find them all."

Charlie smiled. "I'm going to check out the section on dragons – don't leave the store!"

When he was gone, Hermione assigned tasks. "Ron, you can go and find the Charms and Transfiguration books. Harry, you're our resident Defence expert so it's the Dark Arts for you – we might need quite a few from there so Ginny can go with you."

Hermione and Ginny shared a small smile and Harry realised that he was working against a team here on his own. They had just scored another safe point in this matchmaking/hormone game. That put Harry on about two points, trailing by about a hundred. He shook his head with a small smile and moved off towards the back of the shop, winking at Hermione to tell her he knew what she'd done.

He saw her surprise and wondered just how oblivious women thought men were.

"So," Ginny smiled. "Professor Potter, what do we need?"

Harry glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "Hermione, your little partner in crime, ordered defence books." He grinned mischievously when she stumbled. "And I want some Occlumency texts and any on non-verbal spell casting."

"Why?"

Harry stumbled then. _Why...? For everything and nothing..._ "Dumbledore's killer escaped because I couldn't keep my mouth shut," he said after a moment had past. "Snape..." Harry drove his fist into a shelf of books – hard. "He won't get away next time, Ginny."

She just nodded, looking a tad unnerved. Harry shook his head and began to scan the large section on Defence Against the Dark Arts. The books were many and varied, but didn't even beginning to cover the vast topic. There was a section of the Hogwarts standard books so Harry grabbed a set of those, which were bound with a black strap, and tucked them under his arm.

"Look out for Occlumency and non verbal spells, Gin," he said absently, running his fingers along the spines of a row of books, picking up one or two every now and then.

"You'll want 'O' for Occlumency," she replied. "Is it even considered a defence against _Dark Arts_?"

"Suppose it all comes back to the intent of the caster," Harry mused, coming to a stop alphabetically after 'N'. There were a few books on the art here. "Flourish and Blotts consider it a defence against dark arts. Can you grab those three please, my hands are full."

Ginny did and they headed back towards the counter to pay. Ron and Hermione met them halfway and they dumped a fair stack of books on the counter in front of the young sales wizard. A short man with wisp of a beard and purple robes. He was wearing a matching wizarding hat.

"Oh, best sale of the day," he commented. "Is there anything else?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "One more – hang on."

Harry jogged over to the spell casting section, which was in the general stacks, and quickly tracked down what he was looking for. A thick tome on non verbal magic. Pulling out his wand, he actually managed to cast a silent summoning charm to bring the book towards him. Back at the counter, he dropped it on the pile as the sales wizard tallied up the total.

"Seventy nine galleons, six sickles and eight knuts for the whole lot," the man said with a smile. "Those Occlumency books are first editions, pricey – worth ten galleons each."

"I'll get this, guys," Harry said, reaching down to untie his _wallet_ from his waist but Ron was having none of it.

"Harry," Ron said, "put your purse away. We can all pa—"

Harry had expected something like this. Ron was touchy about money. "This is for the war," he cut in. "Ergo it is my responsibility. Consequently I'm paying... Sirius would want his gold spent on something like this."

There were, of course, more arguments, from Hermione and Ginny as well as Ron, but Harry wouldn't budge. He simply wouldn't be moved on this, and in the end his friends gave in. He did, after all, have more money than he knew what to do with.

The books fit into eight bags, and Ron dumped two on Charlie when his older brother saw that they were ready to leave and came back over. Harry poured the galleons onto the desk and began to count them out. He made it eighty galleons even and pushed it across to the sales wizard.

"Are you... are you Harry Potter?" the man asked as Harry began to move away.

He shook his head. "No, but I've been told we look a lot alike."

Harry could tell the wizard did not believe him but he spun on his heel and made a quick line for the door before he could say anything else. Outside in Diagon Alley again, Harry saw the boarded up abandoned wand shop, Ollivander's, and wondered what had happened to the eccentric old man that had made wands.

Charlie saw him looking at the empty shop. "He's not been seen in over a year," he said. "That doesn't mean You Know Who's got him."

Harry nodded, and they set off back up the cobbled stone street towards Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. Via Eeylops Owl Emporium and the apothecary, when they finally made it to the extravagant forefront of Fred and George's business, the five of them were laden with bags. With any luck they could ditch them behind the counter here until they were ready to go.

Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes hadn't changed since Harry had last seen it. There was still a small fireworks display going off in the windows, it still stood out against the dull and dreary backdrop of the rest of the alley, and the famous _U-NO-POO_ poster still adorned the window.

Harry knew, with Voldemort getting stronger, that that poster may soon be enough to make Fred and George marked men.

Inside, Harry had to duck when a small flying figurine on a broomstick tried to knock him out with a tiny bludger bat. He didn't have to think hard as to where Fred and George had gotten their inspiration for that little product. He rubbed the side of his head where McLaggen had knocked him out last year.

The product range had definitely been extended since the last time Harry was here. He saw dozens of items that made no sense, but loud noises, as well as the old favourites like Nosebleed Nougat, Shield Hats – shield everything along the far wall – Decoy Detonators and Instant Darkness Powder. He intended to buy some of that – just to carry around in case of emergency.

"Harry, my good man," Fred or George said, throwing up his hands in greeting. "How is our primary investor this fine morning?"

Harry assumed it was George, as Fred had asked him that an hour or two ago. "Fine, George," he said. "Can we drop these bags somewhere and rifle through your merchandise?"

"Yeah, put them in the back. Fred's out there with Verity so fair warning – he may be naked!"

Harry wasn't entirely sure if George was joking or not – when could he be sure when the twins were involved – so he sent Ron, who hadn't heard a thing, in first.

Ron moved ahead and pushed aside the dark curtain near the range of Muggle tricks which led back into the storeroom. Harry waited five seconds after he entered before going in himself, and smiled slightly when he saw Fred counting the boxes of merchandise on one side of the storeroom, and Verity, the blonde-haired sales witch, counting on the other.

"What do you lot want?" Fred asked.

"Somewhere to leave these bags until we're ready to go," Ron said.

Fred waved them on and then smiled at Harry. "You seen the _Prophet _today, Harry?" he asked.

Harry chewed his tongue for a moment after putting his bags down. "Do I want to?"

Fred laughed and turned away, but Harry saw the pain in his eyes and the sadness. He was still laughing as he slipped away down a row of towering boxes marked _WWW._

"Well I don't think that bodes well for me," Harry sighed.

"The paper's out on the counter," Verity said, smiling warmly and gazing after Fred. She added, with a small blush, "I believe you can do it, Mr Potter."

_The Daily Prophet_ was indeed resting on the counter, where George currently stood serving a gaggle of young customers and demonstrating choice products to older ones. He nabbed the paper and unfolded it, already groaning when he saw the picture of himself and the headline.

_HARRY POTTER – THE CHOSEN ONE_

_With the death of Albus Dumbledore, the country and the world lost  
a valiant and brave man when they needed him the most. Long belie-  
ved to be the only man He Who Must Not Be Named ever feared, has  
his death cleared the field for You Know Who's bid for power?_

_One would think so, but there have been no Death Eater attacks in the  
long weeks since Dumbledore's death, no sightings of You Know Who  
and no disturbances in the Muggle world. Speculation is strong that  
Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, is the reason You Know Who has  
not made his move against our world._

_June 1996. Death Eaters broke into the fabled Hall of Prophecy at  
the Ministry, in the Department of Mysteries, and You Know Who  
himself duelled Dumbledore in the atrium. Was there a prophecy  
marking Harry Potter as the one destined to defeat the most  
evil wizard our history can remember? If so, why was it not made public?  
Surely such a prophecy would give hope to thousands of people living  
in a state of fear and hopelessness after the death of Albus Dumbledore._

_Potter has faced You Know Who more than once and survived, and is the only  
wizard alive now that can claim that. He (continued page 2, column 4)_

Hermione and Ginny had been reading the paper over Harry's shoulder, and gently now Hermione asked. "Harry... are you okay?"

Harry realised he was crushing the paper between his fists, and made a small effort to smooth it out. "I'm... not too pleased with this, Hermione," he said after a moment, taking a deep breath. "No, not pleased at all."

Ron intervened in typical Ron fashion. "You're probably just hungry," he said, casting a wary glance at Hermione. "Come on, let's knock off some of Fred and George's gear and go get lunch at the Leaky Cauldron."

Harry laughed at that and didn't see the small smile Hermione threw at Ron. "Actually," he said. "I reckon we should get some of those shielded wand holsters, and a few other bits and bobs."

They did, and because it was Harry, George insisted that he not pay a thing. And just like in the bookstore when Harry couldn't be budged on his decision, neither could George be moved on his. Ron was a bit put out about it but got over it fast when Harry took four of the shielded wand holsters – one for each of them – and a few of the other products. Most notably the Instant Darkness Powder and the Decoy Detonators.

When they reached the Leaky Cauldron half an hour later, after perusing the twin's shop for quarter of an hour, carrying even more bags, Mrs Weasley, Bill and Fleur were already there and waiting for them. Mrs Weasley was relieved to see them and quickly took control, pushing them into the sparsely populated pub.

"We'll have lunch at home, dears," she said, making a fast line for the fireplace. "Harry's been here too long and I fear some people may have recognised him. We heard it mentioned three times on the way back from the flower shop, Harry dear. It is too dangerous to stay now."

Harry sighed and slumped against the brick wall next to the fireplace. "I understand," he said, grabbing a pinch of floo when Mrs Weasley offered it. He was about to step into the fireplace when Bill stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"I'll go first, Harry," he said. "Make sure no one's at home who shouldn't be."

Harry didn't argue, even when Charlie went next, but he did push to the front of the line ahead of Fleur and threw his powder down with a short, "_The Burrow..." _before anyone else could go.

He hated it when people he cared about treated him like a child. He even thought, a bit unfairly, that none of them had even _seen_ Voldemort, let alone duelled him; none of them had destroyed a bloody Basilisk; none of them had been unable to do anything as Snape killed Dumbledore...

Harry was shaking his head, angry at himself, when he stepped out of the fireplace at the Burrow. He didn't wait for his friends and walked briskly up the stairs, dumping his heavy bags of books and Weasley products on the top of his open trunk in Ron's room.

Moving over to the window, Harry stared out of it into the cloudless sky, over the distant forest and to the foothills near Ottery St. Catchpole, where the River Otter meandered through Devon. He raised his arm and laid his elbow flat against the window, leaning forward until his forehead did the same, hitting it with a dull _clunk!_

"Damn you, Voldemort," he whispered, his breath fogging on the window for a moment, before the warmth faded it away. "Damn you, Snape, for killing him." Closing his eyes, Harry heard his friends climbing up the stairs. Finally, before they arrived, he whispered, "Damn you, Dumbledore, for letting him..."

* * *

Matt Tristan lay on his stomach half naked on the bed in the room he and Courtney had rented in Rome, at an out of the way motel, for a few days whilst they waited for the heat to die down over that fire in Merton's apartment building. 

He and Courtney had been back here only a day, and even now Matt was listening for the sound of that... that... _demon_. The terrible screeching, the rush of flames, the searing heat... he was certain it would chase him. He only hoped someone else managed to destroy it before it found him again.

Courtney was on the bed next to him and she was gently applying antiseptic and a few magical potions to the burn wounds on his back, caused by the white hot liquid metal. They hadn't healed that much in a day, and still burnt. He'd been bed ridden for the last twenty hours.

"Ow, ow, ow, OW!" he complained, when the friction of her fingers began to peel away the dead and burnt skin.

Courtney chuckled – she was used to Matt being injured and taking care of him. "Stop being such a baby," she chided.

Matt grumbled under his breath. "Alright then, next time a bloody helldemon can bloody melt a bloody set of stairs on top of you, and we'll see how you bloody cope!"

"I think I'll cope with a bit more grace and elegance than you are, honey," she smiled, gently blowing on the cool cream across his back. Matt shivered and she smiled.

Matt sighed and put his head down into the thin motel pillow. "I think there's a burn or two lower down as well... just below my belt. Here, I'll roll over so you can get in there—A-A-OW!"

Still smiling pleasantly, Courtney finished applying the cream to the fairly serious burn on Matt's shoulder. He had been in a real state last night when she cut away his shirt, some of which had melted into his skin. If it wasn't for the magical potions and creams then he would have been in serious trouble.

Courtney recalled how many times she had had to take care of him over the last five years, when she had met him on her nineteenth birthday and saved his life. Her life, which had been going down hill fast, picked up when their paths crossed. She was twenty four now, and he was twenty five.

Yes, there had been a lot of incidents over those years that required her having to heal Matt as best she could – and she had gotten quite good at it. But it made her wonder how he had survived the first twenty years of his life. He was... accident prone, if that was the right turn of phrase.

"So what do we do next?" she asked.

Matt sighed and turned his head so he was looking at her sideways. He had a winning smile on his lips and raised one eyebrow. "Well, babe, there's adventure on the horizon."

"Again?" she sighed. "When are we going to settle down and have two and a half kids, Matt?"

Matt's eyes widened until Courtney began to giggle. He smiled and threw a pillow at her sideways. It bounced off her and landed on his back, making him wince. "Careful, dear," Courtney whispered. "You'll peel."

"Ha ha..." Matt said. "But seriously, Court. If we find this next treasure – which I'll tell you all about later – we can retire and live comfortably for the rest of our lives. Hell, if we find it I'm willing to bet all those Ministries will drop the charges against me and call off the bounty."

"There wouldn't be a bounty if you were more subtle during that Egypt business," she said. "There wasn't even any treasure map in that sarcophagus anyway!"

Matt pouted and shook his blackish-red hair out of his eyes. "How was I supposed to know it was the most sacred tomb in three religions?"

"Bless you, Matt," Courtney said dryly, patting his leg and pushing a strand of her long blonde hair back behind her ears. "But okay, what's this next job? Was it something Merton told you about?"

Matt nodded. "Something he died for, something he looked into Hell for, Court... and something looked back." There was no humour in Matt's voice now, he was shockingly serious. "The Source... of all magic. A prize beyond anything. We just have to find this Chosen One he was talking about and go from there. It could take months though."

Courtney was frowning thoughtfully when she hopped off the bed and walked across the carpeted floor towards the table that was strewn with papers and paraphernalia. She picked up a copy of the wizarding paper Matt had delivered under a false name most days. The British one, _The Daily Prophet._

"Harry Potter," she said, reading the headline and walking back over to the bed. She sat on the edge against Matt's arm, mindful of his healing back, and showed him the paper. "Harry Potter," she repeated. "The Chosen One."

Matt blinked... blinked again, and then his face split into the biggest grin Courtney had ever seen. "Now that is convenient," he said, and began to laugh. "Harry _bloody_ Potter."

* * *

**That was Chapter 1. Look out for Chapter 2 soon. Thank you to my first (and only) reviewer, kazziedal. Thank you, dear, for reviewing. Made my day.**

**Cheers,**

**Ethan**


	3. Pixies and Pizza

**Disclaimer:** Not mine... yet.

**Author's Note:** Thank you to those who reviewed the last chapter. Let's hope I'm seeing a trend here and this time there will be even more reviews.

_**Harry Potter and the Soul of Chaos**_

Chapter 2 – Pixies and Pizza

_A friend is one who believes in you when you  
have ceased to believe in yourself._

_Unknown_

_July 16th_

The entire world had changed with the death of Albus Dumbledore. In more ways than anyone had or could realise yet. For one thing, Harry Potter's life was in constant danger, as any protection devised could never be enough without Dumbledore. Another thing was the knowledge the old man had taken to the grave...

Like the true history of the Order of the Phoenix.

Not many knew it, not many cared about it, but Albus Dumbledore had not founded the Order of the Phoenix. No, the Order had existed millennia before in its first, and really only, true great form. Albus Dumbledore had _re-_founded it.

The Phoenix is one of the oldest creatures on the planet, having survived through all of the five great extinctions which wiped out all life on the earth for millions upon millions of years each. They grow old, live for hundreds if not thousands of years, and do not simply use magic – they are magic.

An ancient order took the phoenix as a symbol of power, and indeed it is. They were an order of protectors, of guardians. They were the Order of the Phoenix, and protected mankind and magic from the worst evil Hell ever spawned.

They were also, thousands of years ago, obliterated off the face of the earth when Hell unleashed its armies against mankind. Heaven, as ever, watched but did not dare interfere – that is not the way. The Order of the Phoenix paid a terrible price to seal away that army of demons and worse.

Phoenixes, those magnificent golden creatures, died in their hundreds, and now only a small remnant survive of the dying breed. But they remember the battle of the Order of the Phoenix, remember the price paid, and know that it would have to be paid again in time.

It was just a question of when...

* * *

Minerva McGonagall did not want to assume command of the legendary Order of the Phoenix after Dumbledore's death – did not want to take her old friends' and colleagues' place. But there was no one else and the war wouldn't wait for everyone to see that. 

It seemed if Dumbledore had trusted her enough to be the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, then the Order could trust her now as their leader, as well as the Headmistress of Hogwarts... although there may not be a Hogwarts next year, so that title was sketchy at best.

Seated at the head of the round table in the Room of Requirement at Hogwarts castle – the silent and empty Hogwarts castle – Minerva quietly accepted her position as head of the Order. Fawkes, the phoenix, was supposed to choose the next leader – that was what Dumbledore had said should he die – but the phoenix was nowhere to be found.

Minerva had made it clear that should Fawkes return, whoever he chose would be the leader and her position was only temporary in that respect. She would have it no other way, and the other members seated at the circular table did not argue that point.

This was the Order's first real meeting since Dumbledore's death three weeks ago. There had been a few small gatherings of the organisation in that time, but now the shock of what had happened had faded somewhat, they where here to discuss productively in which direction to move.

Around the table left from Minerva sat Alastor Moody, Arthur, Molly, Charlie and Bill Weasley, Mundungus Fletcher, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, Rubeus Hagrid and Kingsley Shacklebolt. Namely, the most active and prominent members of the Order left alive.

By silent agreement they had decided that the Order _would_ continue to do what it could against Voldemort, voted Minerva as the new leader, and were now turning their collective thought to other matters that fell under their sway. At the top of that list stood Harry Potter.

"Potter's insistence to keep secret what he and Albus were doing the night of... of his death," Minerva said, looking and feeling a lot older than she had done three weeks ago. "His refusal to tell us information that could be vital to the war should be our primary concern right now."

There were nods from a few members, but Molly Weasley was shaking her head. "Our primary concern should be Harry's safety," she replied, daring anyone to disagree. "We were in Diagon Alley yesterday, and news that he was there spread like wildfire. If the wrong ear had heard it..." Molly left the words unsaid but screaming loudly in everyone's mind.

"The wards Albus erected around the Burrow should continue to work for some time yet," Arthur said, removing his glasses to press his tired eyes. "But I'm going to request that there is always another member of the Order – two even – at home."

Minerva nodded. "We can make that work, Arthur," she said. "Nymphadora, Remus, would you two like that duty?"

The clumsy Auror sat next to the pale werewolf, her hand resting on his and a small smile hanging about her lips. She nodded enthusiastically and Remus did the same with more calm than anything else.

"How is he, Molly?" Remus asked the Weasley mother. "I haven't had chance to see him since Albus'..."

Molly nodded in understanding. "He's coping in his own way, I think, Remus," she replied, shaking her head sadly. "He may be angry at himself for allowing Severus to escape, but I don't think he is going to runout on us or anything so drastic."

"He and Ginny are infatuated with each other," Charlie said with a small grin. "But I think Harry broke it off after what happened... anyway, Ginny isn't making it easy for him."

Molly hid a small smile and Arthur just shook his head.

"But he's well?" Remus continued. "Eating and keeping himself out of trouble?"

"You'll see him later on," Bill said, scratching his beard which hid most of his terrible scars. "At times he seems... harder, than I would've thought – but he's eating okay. Not enough to challenge Ron at the table but Mum won't let him leave without at least a second helping of everything."

"He's always been much too thin," Molly sighed.

"And when has Potter ever kept himself out of trouble?" Kingsley Shacklebolt added. "I've seen most of the Ministry reports on him – I wouldn't be surprised if he was planning to tackle Voldemort himself."

There was a sharp intake a breath from the majority of Order members at the table.

"Don't say that," Hagrid moaned, still nowhere near over Dumbledore's death. The half giant's eyes were still red rimmed with tears shed and unshed.

"I think it should be considered a serious possibility," Minerva said. "He should be watched for signs of such behaviour, Remus."

"I won't spy on him," the werewolf said calmly, simply. "Anyway... if Harry were to fight Lord Voldemort, I wouldn't put all my money on Voldemort."

That brought on a moment of reflective silence as all at the table knew that Harry Potter was the only wizard alive to have escaped Voldemort's grasp for so long – to duel him and manage to walk away, and still be breathing today.

"Albus knew something about Potter and Voldemort," Moody spoke up unexpectedly. "I reckon it had something to do with that prophecy he tried to steal when we lost Black."

Minerva rubbed her temple, already feeling the weight of her new position. "That may be a critical point, Alastor," she mused. "But it is easier to draw blood from a stone than it is to get Potter to talk at the moment."

* * *

"Harry, will you please shut up about it?" Ron exclaimed. "Merlin, you've done nothing but talk all morning. Okay, when you turn seventeen in a fortnight I'll let you practice all the non-verbal jinxes you want against me. Okay, you happy?" 

"Very," Harry smiled, clapping Ron on the back as they made their way down the stairs to the kitchen. "You see, Ron, this is why we're friends."

Harry did not want to test the Ministry's patience at the moment – not while he and Minister Scrimgeour were not seeing eye to eye. So that meant he probably shouldn't continuously flout the underage magic laws until he turned seventeen. Yesterday he had cast a summoning charm in Flourish and Blotts which so far seemed to have gone under the radar.

He assumed the Ministry was probably too busy to deal with minor infractions like that at the moment.

Ron sniffed. "Friends don't ask friends if they can curse them silently," he said.

Ron and Hermione were both already of age, old enough to use magic without breaking any underage laws, and Harry was within a fortnight of the same privilege. He found himself thinking it was an odd law – he didn't think he would be anymore wise and mature in a fortnight than he was now, but he wasn't about to push his luck.

"You know why I have to do it," Harry mumbled, thinking about Snape and Voldemort, and which one he would kill first.

Ron nodded and sighed. "It's because I told Pansy Parkinson that you have feelings for her, isn't it?"

"No!" Harry said, not catching on. "Wait... you what?"

Ron doubled over with laughter and Harry, finally realising it was a joke, kicked him down the last few stairs. Ron landed in a heap at the bottom, no longer laughing. Harry was though. That was until Ron rolled over, wand out, and locked his legs together with a quick bit of spellwork.

Unfortunately for Harry, his forward momentum carried him downwards and he, too, landed in a tangle next to Ron at the bottom of the stairs. "Ow," he said, nursing a bruised elbow, legs still stuck together.

And it was at the bottom of the stairs that Ginny and Hermione found them both a moment later, having heard the commotion from the kitchen. There was sweat on all four of the teenager's brows, as today was turning out to be one of the hottest of the summer by far.

"The trick is to take it one step at a time, fellas," Ginny said dryly, gently tapping Harry on the shoulder with her foot to get him moving.

"Harry pushed me!" Ron exclaimed, as Hermione struggled to help him up.

"I pushed Ron," Harry said at the same time, confessing to the crime.

"Here," Hermione sighed, noticing Harry's legs. She drew her wand and cancelled the leg-locker curse. "You'd think you boys would be a bit more mature at this point in your lives," she continued, shaking her head.

"We're happy go-lucky scamps," Ron grinned, hobbling forwards towards the kitchen. He'd twisted his ankle on his tumble down the stairs, but it was already working itself out.

Ginny, meanwhile, was helping Harry to his feet, and after much snipes and curses under his breath Harry followed Ron and Hermione to the kitchen, sharing the smallest of smiles with Ginny.

They were alone at the Burrow today, but with explicit instructions not to leave the property or the safety of the wards for anything. At the first sign of trouble they were to either Apparate, if applicable, or floo to safety. Ginny didn't know how to Apparate as of yet, but she could catch a lift with one of the other three. The wards prevented Apparation for a good quarter of a mile in every direction though.

Most of the household was attending an Order meeting at Hogwarts, that much they had been told. Fred and George were at the shop and Fleur was busy in Diagon Alley again with the wedding, which was only a few days away now. Preparations were well underway for that, with Fleur's family and guests expected to arrive over the next day or two.

"So, what are we doing today?" Harry asked the others, grabbing an apple from the bowl on the table. A green apple, charmed to stay cold and crisp. It was something to be savoured on this stinking hot day.

"Well," Ron said thoughtfully, "I was thinking—"

"That's a first," Harry snorted.

Ron glared, took a swipe at Harry across the table, missed and continued. "I was thinking we could head out to that river in the forest, Gin, you remember that? It's always cool and fresh."

Hermione shook her head. "We were told to stay _inside_ the wards, Ron," she stressed.

Harry sighed and leaned back in his chair, devouring his apple. "If Voldemort's coming," he began, "then we're safer in that forest than we are here. At least we can Apparate out from there – also, it's hot."

Ginny bit her bottom lip in indecision. "What if mum comes back and we're not here?" she asked.

"They'll be in that Order meeting all day – we'll leave a note as well," Ron said. "Come on, you two, Hermione and I are of age so we can look out for you."

"It is a bit of a risk, isn't it?" Ginny said weakly.

"No more so than staying here all day," Ron shrugged. "Yeah, I don't think you've got anymore excuses, Harry, come on."

"I was never against the idea," Harry replied, chuckling. "I just need to go change into my swimmers and grab a towel."

Ron grinned. "That's set then. Don't look at me like that, Hermione, you know it's a good idea. The place we're going isn't even a mile away. If you climb a tree there you can even see the Burrow."

Hermione, after a moment of deliberation, finally nodded. "Alright," she said, "it does sound nice."

"Excellent," Ron replied. "Okay, I'll write the note, you lot go get ready – and bring me a towel and some shorts down, Harry."

"I'm not your pack-mule," Harry grumbled, spoiling the effect with a smile before darting out of the kitchen and back up the stairs.

_Five minutes later..._

_Dear Mum,_

_Gone swimming in the forest – our reasoning was that any attack would likely be on the house, so we decided, as a group, with Harry as the leader, to get out of the house. Also, can you believe how hot it is? _

No, me neither. We should be back before you but if not this note should ease your mind.

_Love,_

_Ron_

_P.S. Any blame or anger can be directed towards Harry, who bullied us into this. Also, can you please bake a blueberry pie? _

"Did you leave a note?" Harry asked Ron as they walked towards the eastern gate of the property, which opened onto a field which eventually met the thick green forest about half a mile away.

"Sure did," Ron said. "Short and sweet, but we'll beat them back. We'll only be an hour or two."

"What is this pool like?" Hermione asked. She was wearing a blue bathing suit with a pair of shorts and sandals. Her wand was tucked into her shorts and she had a towel slung over her shoulder.

Harry was in an old pair of shorts and a faded black shirt, a towel of his own slung across his neck to protect it from the sun. Ron was in jeans and a shirt, carrying his shorts and a towel, and Ginny was wearing a red one-piece bathing suit, underneath her shorts and shirt – her towel was wrapped around her waist.

"It's at the bottom of a waterfall," Ron said, looking ahead towards the forest. "We discovered it years ago, just mucking around. It's fairly deep and wide and drains off over another waterfall into the river Otter, but it's not a steep waterfall – 'bout five feet high, so taller than Harry. Not much else there but trees and flowers – sometimes there are pixies."

"Sounds nice," Hermione smiled at Ron, who blushed and muttered something about the heat.

"I'm taller than five foot!" Harry exclaimed.

"'Course you are, mate," Ron said with false sympathy, marching on ahead across the green field.

There were a few bales of hay on the field, used to feed the animals at the Burrow, but other than that it was just an empty green field with a few rises here and there. The small forest soon loomed overhead, as the four friends enjoyed the summer's day strolling along and talking together.

Rarely walked in, as the Muggle repelling charms on the Burrow extended to line of sight of the house, the forest path was fairly overgrown, as the Weasley flock had all been attending Hogwarts for years now. But there was a slightly discernable path, and it was that which Harry and the others followed.

The trees to begin with were spaced evenly and wide spread, but soon enough they hemmed in the path, as did the small shrubs and wilting flowers. Spring was over and the sun was fast ending the life of the native flora. A filtered sunlight streamed in through the high canopy of leaf and branch, but it was humid under the trees, and Harry started to feel sticky and sweaty. He couldn't wait for the promised cool pool.

"It's just through here," Ron said five minutes later, once they'd followed the path around a few large evergreens. Ron left the path and began to chop his way through the undergrowth, taking care around the nettles, and clearing the way.

Ron and Hermione moved ahead and that left Harry and Ginny at the back together, walking a bit slower. Harry lifted a low hanging branch out of her way, and received a small smile for his efforts.

"So," Ginny said. "Any plans for this next year, if Hogwarts doesn't reopen?"

"Horcrux hunting," Harry replied simply. "Save the world, destroy the bad guy... get the girl." He winked and she playfully punched him in the arm. "I'm not going back to Hogwarts, Gin, but I think you should if it opens."

Ginny sighed and shrugged, clearly not knowing what she was going to do. Harry had, pretty much in the first hour he had been at the Burrow, sat his friends down and explained what he intended to do after the wedding. Dumbledore had said it would be fair to tell Ron and Hermione about the Horcruxes and the prophecy and everything, but Harry had included Ginny in that now.

She was, after all, a lot closer than a friend... well... _could have been closer_... That was complicated. Anyway, Ron, Hermione and Ginny all knew of the prophecy, knew of Voldemort's fragmented soul – knew it was his destiny, that he was the Chosen One, for reasons still unclear, to save the whole world from a creature that would gladly wipe out billions of its inhabitants.

And had the power to do so, now that Dumbledore was dead.

_Dead and buried,_ Harry reminded himself, more than a little numb to death. He had grown somewhat accustomed to its ways over the years, and that was terrifying. It still hurt to think about the old headmaster, in his white tomb at Hogwarts. A monument that would not last if Voldemort won.

"I don't want to let you have all the fun," Ginny said. "Though mum would have a fit if I told her."

"No one can know about the Horcruxes, Gin," Harry said, feeling cold now in the heat. It was terrible what he had to do. "No one... Too much is riding on this."

"I won't tell a... well, a _soul_, Harry."

Ron and Hermione were just visible up ahead, disappearing around a copse of trees and a patch of long weed grass. Harry and Ginny walked a bit faster to catch up.

"Do you ever get the feeling that this is too big for us, Ginny?" Harry asked, clearly surprising Ginny. Her eyes widened as if she didn't believe he was being serious. "Who are we to save the world...?"

Ginny blinked, bit her bottom lip and then slipped her arm across his shoulders, softly kissing him on the side of his head just above his ear. "You're Harry Potter," she said. "I grew up on stories of you... and... well... the stories pale to the real thing. That's why it's you who is going to destroy Voldemort, because you can."

"You really have that much faith in me?"

Ginny nodded. "I don't just believe it, Harry, I know it."

"But why me...?" he whispered.

"I've already told you that," Ginny said softly. "You are Harry Potter. Who else is there?"

Harry smiled, sadly, and then the two of them caught up to Ron and Hermione around the bend in the woods and the canopy of trees opened up in a small glade and revealed the sparkling pool.

There was a waterfall, stretching away several metres to Harry's right and the curtain of whitewashed water fell into the glistening, almost silver, pool which did look quite deep. It formed a wide circle before falling away on another, much smaller, waterfall.

The sun beat down hard upon them and it was hot again out in the open. Harry did see a few green pixies dashing away into the undergrowth as they approached, noticed a few more disturbing the flowers and small shrubs as they tinkered away into hiding.

Magic was all around, even in the Muggle world, you just had to give things a second glance.

"See, what did I tell ya," Ron said. "It's pretty deep as well so you can even jump off the waterfall – there are no rocks under the water either so that's safe."

Kicking off his shoes, Harry dropped his towel by the water and tested it with his toe. It was warm – not cold and a lot less hot than the sticky humid air. Harry was eager to jump in.

* * *

_  
Rome_

"You ready, Court?" Matt asked, gingerly buttoning up his black t-shirt over the white bandages that covered his more serious burns and cuts.

"Yep," Courtney replied, zipping up the suitcase she and Matt lived out of. It was charmed to shrink once the zip was done up, and it did so now down to pocketsize. Courtney slipped it into the pocket of her denim shorts.

"We'll take the car up to France," Matt said, opening the paint stripped door of their motel room and stepping out into the warm Italian afternoon sun. They had spent two and a half days in the room, and weren't even going to bother checking out, seeing as how they had paid in cash.

Always pay in cash – never leave a trail.

Courtney yawned. She and Matt had slept in today, so as to have the strength to keep driving through the night. Darkness was their friend. Matt carried an envelope with all sorts of false identification in it, Muggle and Magical passports as well as driving licences and bank cards. It helped them get across international borders and whatnot.

"I know the plan," Courtney said, shaking her head of sleep. "Into France, to Paris, where you know a bloke who can get us a Portkey to London. Where this Harry Potter is."

Matt winked and smiled, opening the passenger door on the blue Audi for her. "If we get split up, what are the meeting points?"

"The Louvre at one o'clock in the afternoon, or the Eiffel Tower at five."

"That's my girl," Matt said, walking around the car to the driver's side door. He was swinging the keys absently around his finger, but his eyes were ever alert for any signs of anyone out of place. All he could see was the busy road and a few people seated out front of the restaurant he and Courtney had been eating from the last few nights.

It was a cheap, little, dirty place but they made an awesome pizza. Where in Italy didn't?

Nothing caught his attention... and yet...

Matt was a Sensitive. That is, he could physically sense when his life was in danger – like a wrenching in his stomach, or an itching on the back of his neck. Just a feeling, and right now it was going haywire. It had been building up all morning, he realised, but now it was off the scale.

Sensitives were rare. Matt did not know of anyone else like him, but there had been a few in history. Merlin was one, and he had done great things. It was how, in this game, Matt had stayed alive so long. The average live span of a treasure hunter was as long as their first big score. Matt Tristan had had many big scores.

He slowly got into the car, easing himself into the seat as the pressure on his back hurt like all hell.

"Uh-oh," Courtney sighed. "You've got that look on your face."

Matt grinned. It wasn't exactly a sane grin nor one that inspired Courtney with a lot of confidence.

"My spidey-sense is tingling," he said, casting a quick glance in the rear view mirror. Keying the ignition, the car hummed to life and Matt eased it into Reverse, taking care to move slowly out.

Courtney didn't know how Matt did it, but whenever he got those feelings things started to go bad fast for him, and usually anyone standing nearby. Since she was pretty close, Courtney felt it wise to open the glove box and remove the 9mm Beretta pistol she kept there.

Matt nodded his approval, pushed into First and took off down the car park, leaving their motel room behind – which was strewn with empty pizza boxes and was now lacking a few towels.

Still seeing everything there was to see, Matt mentally went over the trip route. Drive out of Rome up to Florence – from Florence keep heading north through Switzerland into the St Gotthard Tunnel (the second longest road tunnel in the world – just under 17 kilometres) – pass through the Swiss Alps and into France, heading north still through Burgundy and then finally Paris.

It would take a day or two and Matt knew there would be need for a night stop here and there, but if he and Courtney rotated positions to sleep every ten hours then they should only need to stop for fuel and food otherwise. It was a sound plan, one that would see them in the United Kingdom before the week was out.

Checking the clip in the weapon, Courtney slid the lock back into place and held the weapon with a marksmen's ease on her lap.

"Anything?" she asked.

Matt bit his lip and frowned. The danger was there, he knew – _he felt_ – but it felt odd. A Sensitive just had a feeling... a heightened instinct to peril and, occasionally, to strong human emotions like love and hate, anger and joy. But this was something Matt had never sensed before.

It felt foreign to him and he could scarcely describe it.

Instead of... immediate danger, he thought, it was more like the tentative calm before the storm. He felt slight nausea, nervousness even – and that was impossible. As far as anyone knew, Sensitives were caught up in the moment, warned only a few seconds in advance about danger. Not this – never this.

Impossible.

Then again, demons didn't exist a few days ago, and now one was most likely hunting him for the knowledge Merton had passed on before he died. Knowledge he had gained through the Mirror of Dust – one of Matt's big scores. Something that held a power, a force, which was only supposed to be myth. To be legend!

Not real... never real. Too real.

_Goddamn fool,_ Matt growled to himself, turning onto the motorway and quickly becoming lost in a sea of slow moving vehicles. He didn't know if he was calling Merton or himself the fool, but both fit. He should've left the Mirror and its curse buried beneath the sands of Egypt.

"Anything?" Courtney had asked.

"A shitstorm on the horizon, m'dear," Matt sighed. "But I think we're safe for now."

Indicating over into the left lane, Matt pushed it up into Fifth and hurried out of Rome as fast as he could. It would be a long time, if ever, before he returned.

* * *

The water in the secluded creek was amazingly refreshing. Harry dived beneath the spray of the waterfall, his hair sticking down to his head, and back up, breaching the surface fast and spraying water skywards in a sparkling arc.

Harry dived again as Ron jumped from the top of the waterfall several feet overhead, landing with a big splash that rippled out in sloshing waves to the far reaches of the natural pool. It even disturbed Hermione and Ginny, who had been calmly chatting in one of the peaceful corners of the water, away from the turbulent waterfall.

Harry surfaced again as Ron was carried under and swam across to the girls. He wasn't the best swimmer, nor the most graceful, but he could float.

The last hour had been relaxing in a way Harry hadn't known he had needed. Aches and pains in his joints, the stress on his mind, just seemed to melt away in this serene environment, away from the scorching heat of the day and the troubles of the world he would soon have to fight for.

It felt good to be out here in the forest, with his best friends. He knew that after the wedding moments like this might not happen again... and as such they were to be savoured.

For after the wedding his sole concern would be to find the fragmented pieces of Lord Voldemort's soul, and destroy them before facing the creature himself. That still seemed far away, but he was worrying about it now.

The tiny pixies were chirping away in the bushes and trees surrounding the pool when Harry swam alongside Hermione and Ginny, getting a grip on the stone around the edge of the water so he could stay afloat.

"How's things over here?" he asked.

"Same as over there," Ginny replied. "Only there's a lot less Ron."

Ron was out of the water and climbing the rocks by the waterfall again, ready to make another jump. He waved when he spotted them looking, before jumping into the air and striking the water in a manner strongly resembling a cannonball.

"Honestly," Hermione sighed as they were buffeted by the waves from Ron's jump. Her heart wasn't in it though, and Harry saw the smile she wore as Ron broke the surface and began to paddle over.

"I'm getting hungry," he said. "Who wants to head back?"

It was time for an afternoon snack, lunch even, and if they headed back now then maybe they could beat the adults home and quickly dispose of Ron's note, thereby avoiding any admonitions for leaving the relative safety of the wards.

So it was agreed.

Harry pulled himself out of the water onto the ledge he had been holding onto. Dripping and about to stand up, he paused as the fluttering of wings buzzed passed his ear and a green pixy, no bigger than his ring finger, hovered before his face – apparently unconcerned about the close human contact.

It was green, of course, to match its surroundings, and regarded Harry with an almost curious look on its tiny face, small arms resting on its hips.

"Hello," Harry whispered softly, and the small flying creature began to whiz around his head.

Ginny noticed what was happening a few feet away and motioned quietly to the others as the pixy landed softly on Harry's ear, folding its wings back and holding onto a few strands of his hair.

"Oh," Ginny said kindly. She was as amazed as Harry was.

Slowly, Harry lifted his hand before his face and held out his finger. The pixy was intelligent enough to understand, most animals are, and fluttered across onto his finger, sitting down at eye level to Harry.

"That is so sweet," Hermione whispered.

Ron snorted. "Capture it, Harry," he said, "and we can cook it!"

"Ron!" Hermione chided, slapping him on the arm.

The pixy regarded Harry with its small eyes and seemed to weigh him up, looking at him as it would any curiosity. Bringing it closer to his face, the little creature stood up and spread its wings for balance on his finger. Reaching forward with its arm, the pixy moved a few wet strands of hair from across his forehead.

It had revealed the infamous lightning bolt shaped scar. And then that tiny green arm reached out again, hovering now before Harry's eyes, and he felt its fingers brush against the ragged skin of the scar.

Almost instantly the pixy squeaked with pain, as if burnt, flying away sharply and chirping incessantly in an agonised manner. It darted away into the thick foliage and disappeared, its squeals soon lost as well.

Harry frowned and touched the scar himself. It felt warm, prickled slightly when he brushed it. It also felt a bit raw, as if he'd scraped it against something.

He saw his friends' concerned looks, their uncertain looks, and shrugged with confusion. "Merlin knows what that was about?" he said, standing up and moving towards his shirt and towel.

"Little buggers," Ron said after a moment. "Next time, mate, we'll skewer it and make kebabs."

He was trying to lighten the tension and awkwardness that had suddenly descended on the group, and Harry appreciated the effort – he even managed a small laugh as Ron went on about pixy pies and pixy sandwiches. Hermione fell in line beside Ron and smiled warmly, her eyes sympathetic. Ginny came to his left and didn't say anything, just linked her hand through his and squeezed it reassuringly.

_Bloody Voldemort_, Harry thought as they took off through the forest, following the trail they had made on the way. He was more sad than angry right then. Sure, there was rage enough to last a lifetime at the creature who called himself the Dark Lord, but it was overridden just then by a feeling of great injustice.

_Why me?_ Harry thought once again. Why did Fate burden him with this godforsaken scar? Even now it was stinging slightly – now that he was thinking about it. What did it mean? It was a part of him, but also somehow a part of Voldemort. They were linked by blood and magic, and he would find no peace until that link was severed. No peace until he had sent the Devil back to Hell.

_Why me?_

In Harry's mind it was Ginny's voice that answered...

_Who else is there...?_

* * *

**_Thank you for reading. Please take the time to review._**

**_Ethan_**


	4. Dumbledore's Advice

**Disclaimer:** Blah, blah, blah.

**A/N:** Thank you to all who reviewed the previous chapters. hint>Looking forward to hearing from more of the readers of this story. /hint>

__

_**Harry Potter and the Soul of Chaos**_

Chapter 3 – Dumbledore's Advice

_You don't get to choose how you're going to die. Or when.  
You can only decide how you're going to live. Now.  
_

_Joan Baez_

_There's a lot to be said for Occlumency,_ Harry thought, _when I'm not being taught by a traitorous back stabbing son of a b—_

"You're still studying!" Ron exclaimed, barging into the room he and Harry shared with a Quaffle under one arm and a broomstick under the other.

Sunlight poured in through the upper window of Ron's room, playing with the dust particles in the air and shining onto Harry's face, as he sat cross legged on his bed, the Occlumency text open before him.

Harry suppressed a smile. "I'm not studying," he said. "I'm concentrating on achieving inner peace to better my hopes of kicking Voldemort's bony pale ass. I was getting somewhere as well then..."

"Really?"

Harry nodded. "It's getting easier to sort my memories... I think. What I really need is someone to try and break into my mind."

"I'm here for you," Ron grinned, dropping his Quaffle and booting it into a corner. He drew his wand with a flick of the wrist from the wand holster Harry had gotten him from Fred and George's shop, and pointed it at him. "Right between the eyes..."

Harry smirked. "When did you become a master legimens?"

Ron shrugged and put away his wand. "Last Tuesday night. What does it matter?"

Harry smiled and closed his book, doing the final few exercises it suggested and propping up his still pitifully weak defences. Snape would have absolutely no trouble breaking into his mind again – and that had to change if he was to make some decent headway in this war.

"So, what's the plan now then?" he asked Ron.

"Mum won't let us play Quidditch," Ron sighed. "But she said Remus and Tonks were on their way over – extra protection for you, I think – and there's a lot to do for the wedding."

"Like what?" Harry asked, stretching his legs out and rotating his head in slow circles. He was rewarded with a satisfying crack in his neck for his efforts.

Ron threw his broomstick onto his bed. "Seat planning, table arrangements, flower settings... blah, blah, blah..." He waved his hand dismissively and sat down on the bed. "We could play chess?"

Still feeling relatively calm from his Occlumency exercises – which at this stage were just sitting down without distraction and sorting his memories behind layers in his mind which the book called barriers of deception. It made sense in an oddly comforting way – Harry shrugged and yawned.

"It's too hot to play chess," Ron decided a moment later. "Too hot to be outside arranging tables and chairs... at least it would have been cool playing Quidditch."

"What are Hermione and Ginny up to?"

"Hermione's reading the seventh year books already," Ron tapped his fingers against the bedside table. "And Ginny's with Fleur being measured for her dress for Saturday."

"Hmm," Harry sighed. "Well, I suppose we could—"

Harry screamed.

Some force, something terribly powerful, ripped away his weak Occlumency defences and his scar burst with a ferocious pain that seemed to bite back into his skull. Unaware that he did so, Harry threw himself back down into the bed, scattering his books and turned to bite the pillow, in hopes of lessening the mind-breaking pain that cut through his forehead.

Ron was on his feet in less than a second, but apart from that there wasn't much he could do as Harry tossed and turned, grunted and moaned, and buried his face in his pillow, gripping that same pillow tightly.

Meanwhile, Harry travelled...

From the small bedroom in the Burrow his mind was transported north across the United Kingdom and out into the cold seas on the west coast of Scotland. To a small island that held a tall grey stone fortress...

_Dementors and Death Eaters swarmed around him as a shroud of dark cloud settled over Azkaban prison. Weather magic was a fine art, one Lord Voldemort had dabbled in before, and now the otherwise cloudless sky writhed with bitter black thunderstorm clouds, which crackled with lightning and bellowed with thunder. The clouds were centred over the prison._

_Harry felt happy and knew it wasn't his own happiness. It was a sadistic joy as the Dementors were returned once again to their island home, and the impregnable fortress fell to the Dark Lord. He felt as Voldemort did, saw as Voldemort did._

_As well as the Dementors, swarms of ragged corpses – of Inferi – stumbled and moaned around him, hiding in the shadows or wading through the icy fog the Dementors left in their wake. The corpses were in various states of decay, some nothing more than thin skeletons if not less._

"_Severus," Harry hissed, and one of the masked Death Eaters broke away from the group behind him and approached. "Severus, the island is ours."_

_And it was, Harry knew – Harry wept. Aurors, proud in their white battle tarnished robes, littered the ground here and there. Harry hoped that they would not be made into Inferi, a mockery of actual life and give strength to his enemy's army._

_Lightning tore the sky apart – unnatural lighting that was tinged slightly red._

"_Another victory," Snape said, his tone neutral and his arms wrapped inside his cloak. "This world will soon be yours, my lord."_

_Harry laughed and with a flick of his wand sent the Dark Mark glittering into the dark sky, to hover over the conquered fortress._

"_Free my servants locked away in the prison," Harry commanded. "Give the other prisoners chance to join me – kill any who resist."_

"_As you wish, my lord," Snape replied without hesitation._

Harry coughed.

He coughed and sighed, holding a hand to his enflamed forehead. The heat from his scar was powerful, sizzling even, and stung as the real pain began to ebb away. Still with his eyes closed, he took a deep breath and let out another long sigh. He could feel the presence of people around him.

"I'm thinking," he said, "that the shit has just hit the fan... again." He opened his eyes.

Remus Lupin smiled down sadly at him. Next to him was Tonks, her hair a short brown colour with a long dark red streak, and her eyes deep blue. Hermione and Ron were there as well, on the other side.

"What did you see, Harry?" Remus asked. He seemed tired, his eyes ringed with shadow. There was a fair few more streaks of grey in his hair as well. A rough patch of stubble covered his cheeks.

"Voldemort... has Azkaban," Harry said, struggling to sit up in his bed. He must have been out of it for at least half an hour. "Snape was there... a hell of a lot of Dementors... and Inferi. There were a lot of dead Aurors."

Tonks flinched. "There's always thirty five Aurors on the island at any one time," she said, her bottom lip quivering. "I- I have to go inform the Ministry."

Remus shook his head. "You know as well as anyone that the Ministry can't know Harry saw this," he said. "They'll just have to find out later..."

"But there could still be some Aurors left alive!" Tonks protested.

Harry laughed bitterly, swinging his legs off the bed and holding his head as the room spun. "Nothing that deserves to live is left alive on that island," he said, his voice strangely deep and commanding. Everyone present took notice of it.

"If the Ministry knew Harry was seeing things through Voldemort..." Remus turned to Tonks, placing his hand on her shoulder. "They'll know soon enough when the Aurors fail to report back."

Tonks sighed and then shrugged, sitting down on the edge of Harry's bed dejectedly. "I wish Dumbledore were here..." she whispered, casting a dreadful silence across the room.

Harry caught her eyes briefly and turned away, clenching his fists. It was the same look from the others – from Remus and Ron, and Hermione as well. _Without Dumbledore_, it said, _you are all we have._

"Harry, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, quickly entering the room and thrusting a goblet of clear liquid into his hand. "Drink this."

"What is it?" he asked.

"Water, dear. You had quite a fever."

Harry drained the goblet and then stood up, stretching his neck and rubbing his scar. _Be strong,_ he told himself, _they want to see Dumbledore in you._

"This war is not going to wait for me," he said, quietly but it was heard by all. He thought about that for a moment, coming to a silent decision as he gazed out over the English countryside through the window. "Remus," he turned to the werewolf, "just how influential am I in the wizarding world?"

Remus blinked and shared a quick glance with Tonks and Molly before slowly opening his mouth, searching for the right words. "In Britain..." he said, very carefully. "In Britain... public opinion is split between three main power centres."

"Three?" Hermione asked.

Remus nodded. "Those who agree with the Ministry, those who agree with Voldemort – thankfully a small group – and those... those who see you, Harry, as a power unto yourself."

Scratching the side of his head and blinking back the pain from his headache, Harry said, "Come again?"

Remus shook his head and sat down. It was his turn to sigh now, everyone else had. "You were shielded, somewhat, since Voldemort's return, Harry. Dumbledore and the Order protected you from outside influences... like the Ministry. But people remember – they remember it was you on Halloween night so many years ago that survived. They remember that it was you most times since."

Remus paused there and looked speculative for a moment. "It was you, Harry, who told the world that _he_ was back. That fought Death Eaters in the Ministry and it was you who Albus Dumbledore trusted even as he died. Tales like that have a way of becoming public knowledge..."

"So what are you saying?" Ron asked. Harry hadn't moved nor spoken since Remus began. He stood against the window, his hands behind his back and his shoulders held high. Powerful, commanding, whether he knew it or not.

"That many people, a _lot_ of people, most people, respected Dumbledore's opinion. Many people also respect you for yourself, for taking a stand so many times. You have a powerful influence, Harry... I think, I think if you spoke a lot of people would listen."

"I would," Tonks said with a sad smile.

Harry absorbed this information carefully, looking at it from all angles. He slowly tapped his foot on the floor, thinking. _Do I really wield such a powerful influence over the masses...?_ he wondered, although idly. His main thoughts were of how to use this power, of how he could take a real role in this war.

"I'm not a spectator," he eventually said, speaking more to himself than everyone else. "I'm a player in this game... albeit an unwilling one."

"What are you thinking?" Remus asked.

Harry shrugged and smiled, the pain of a moment ago already forgotten as his scar settled down. "Not much, Remus," he said. "Not much yet."

Silence followed his words and Mrs. Weasley was gauging responses to it with a nervous look on her face. "Well," she said. "Well... lunch is on the table downstairs so come on you lot."

"I'll be down in a minute," Harry said, hands in his pockets. He was holding the piece of parchment that had been inside the fake Horcrux. The locket that had cost Dumbledore his life.

Remus and Tonks followed Molly out of the room and down the stairs. Harry sighed as they left, trying to grasp the wider implications of Voldemort's current move in the war. It wouldn't just affect the prison; it would affect morale and boost the number of Death Eaters at Voldemort's command. He shook his head as Hermione asked,

"What are you really thinking about, Harry?"

Harry smiled sadly and turned away. "I was thinking about Stan Shunpike... He was in Azkaban."

Ron and Hermione didn't quite know what to say to that. "This bloody war," Ron managed, shrugging his shoulders as if itching for a fight.

_Perhaps he is_, Harry thought. He was himself trying to temper his rage over this latest development. Slowly but surely the wizarding world was being put on the defensive by Voldemort – when they needed to be attacking. Thoughts buzzed through his mind but Harry swatted them away. He needed to work more on his Occlumency, he knew, amongst other things.

"Let's go get some lunch," he said. "No doubt this'll be in the _Prophet_ soon enough."

Gritting his teeth and biting back the doubt he felt over this, Harry walked from the room taking his aura of power with him. Hermione watched him go with thoughts of her own, standing next to Ron.

"I think there'll be peace by the time he's done, Ron," she said quietly. "I really do."

* * *

_Italy_

Matt had been driving for seven straight hours, having stopped once for fuel, when Courtney woke up the morning after they had left Rome. She had been asleep since midnight, and Matt was glad that she was awake. He had been getting bored as the miles, upon slow miles, streamed by under their wheels.

"Morning, sunshine," he smiled, as she checked that her muggle weapon – the gun – was secured in its seat holster. Always be prepared for the worst – Matt had not needed to teach her that, she had learnt it herself at a very young age.

Courtney yawned and stretched her arms as well as she could in the car. "Where are we?" she asked.

"Heading on over to Switzerland. We went through Florence a while back but you were sleeping so you missed that."

"How do you feel?" she asked, stroking his shoulder.

"Never better, love," Matt smiled. "Burns are a little itchy and I've still got that old familiar feeling."

"Danger?"

"And then some. Sensitives are not supposed to have the feeling this strong or for this long, Court," Matt shook his head. "Maybe we're in over our heads on this one."

Courtney smiled and began to brush her hair with a comb that she kept in the glove box, next to the gun. Beauty, brain, and brawn. "Even if we are you'll keep going, darling. It's why I love you."

Matt winked and accelerated up a hill. There was nothing but forest and blue skies all around them. Pretty soon the St Gotthard tunnel, the second longest tunnel in the world, would be visible up ahead. The roads were mostly empty as well – in the last three hours only six or so cars had passed them coming the other way.

"So," Courtney said, leaning down to rub some feeling back into her dead left foot. "Are you going to tell me some more about this kid Harry Potter?"

Matt shrugged. "What is there to know? I don't know much, but I do know that he's powerful."

"Stronger than you?"

Matt smiled. "Well I wouldn't go that far, but that said I've never survived the Killing Curse or destroyed a Dark Lord."

"Is this kid a Jedi or something. Don't they destroy Dark Lords?" Courtney grinned, joking, but she saw the frown on Matt's face and the look of deep thought.

"Lord Voldemort," he said. "You read in the paper that he's back – well sixteen or so years ago it was Harry Potter, himself just a year old, that stopped him. No one knows how – but that kid survived a curse that you can't survive and gave the wizarding world fifteen years of peace."

Courtney absorbed that slowly. "He must be fairly famous then, for doing that. The _Prophet_, the paper you get delivered, doesn't seem to know half the time whether to praise him or blame him for this Dark Lord."

"Call him Voldemort," Matt said, utterly serious. "Be unique and different."

"Okay then," Courtney shrugged, "Voldemort it is. So, anything else I should know about Harry Potter?"

"Not that much is known about him," Matt replied. "I've heard in the underground and other less reputable places that he's been in one or two scrapes over the years. Rumour has it he slew a basilisk."

Courtney blinked. "Y-You mean a _giant_ snake?"

"Aye," Matt nodded. "He was there when Voldemort returned from the grave, was there when Albus Dumbledore died... that was a sore blow."

"Did you know Albus Dumbledore?" Courtney asked, raising an eyebrow. "Just then it sounded like you did."

Matt was silent for a long moment – not his usual loud and happy self. "Everyone knew Dumbledore," he said eventually. "I'll tell you something now, Court – fairly soon this world is going to miss Albus Dumbledore... a lot of good people are going to die."

"Voldemort must be powerful himself then."

Matt nodded. "Death slowed him down for a time, but now he's back. Either our young hero Harry Potter stops him or I don't think he will be stopped... but let's talk about something else for now. War and death are bringing the mood in this car way down. You want to stop for breakfast in the next town?"

"Can do," Courtney agreed, glancing curiously at the man she loved from the corner of her eye. Matt was hiding something, she knew, and he had never done that before.

* * *

"I heard that you've had an eventful morning," Ginny said, slumping down next to Harry on the sofa in the living room of the Burrow. She had been back about half an hour from Diagon Alley, being fitted for her wedding robes, and Hermione had just told her about Harry's episode.

Harry nodded and marked the page in his Occlumency book with his finger. He really needed to study that more. "Yeah, it rated about an eight on the 'world going to hell in a handcart' scale. Voldemort has Azkaban, Gin."

Ginny shuddered. "Everyone in there is a bit worried about you." She pointed to the kitchen where Ron, Hermione, Remus, Tonks and Mrs. Weasley were sitting. "I think they think you might Apparate out of here on your own and do something drastic like hunt down Voldemort."

Harry chuckled. "I'm going to hunt down pieces of Voldemort, although I have no idea where to start. R.A.B... any ideas on that one?"

"Afraid not," Ginny sighed, linking her hands together. "You'll pull through though, Harry. Maybe you know more than you think you do."

"Maybe," Harry agreed with a sigh. "Maybe, maybe, maybe."

Suddenly the fire burst to life and both Harry and Ginny turned, recognising the familiar face buried in the flames.

"Professor," Ginny said, standing up quickly. "Mum, firecall!"

"Hello, Miss Weasley," Minerva McGonagall said, her proud face wreathed in flame. "I actually wish to speak to Mr. Potter, if he's there."

"I'm here," Harry said, standing up and walking round to the fireplace. "Good afternoon, Professor."

"Potter," McGonagall nodded. "Ah, Molly, Remus told me of this morning's unfortunate events. I wonder if I can borrow young Harry for a few minutes."

"I don't suppose you're taking me off to seek out adventure, are you, Professor?" Harry asked, sadly recalling Dumbledore's words of the previous year. _And now, Harry, let us step out into the night and pursue that flighty temptress, adventure._

"No, Harry," McGonagall said.

"I didn't think so," he replied with a shrug. "What can I do you for then?"

McGonagall hesitated. "Albus... Professor Dumbledore, left a note for you, Harry, in his office. I have only just discovered it amongst his possessions. It was floating on the top of his pensieve..."

"Are you at Hogwarts?" he asked.

"The Head...headmistress' office, Potter."

"I'll be there in a minute."

McGonagall said her goodbyes and then Harry stepped into the fireplace as the flames died down. He wasn't wearing any shoes or a cloak but he didn't want to waste any time going up the stairs to get them. Perhaps something, anything, would be in this letter to help him track down and destroy the remaining Horcruxes.

He took a handful of floo powder from Mrs. Weasley. "I guess I'll be back soon," he said, and winked reassuringly at Ginny before tossing the floo powder to the ground. "Hogwarts, Headmistress' office." The green flames enveloped him and swirled his body through the network of fireplaces.

Bracing himself, he made sure to bend his knees more for the landing and only stumbled a few steps as the fire spat him out in Dumbledore's... McGonagall's office.

"Thank you for coming, Harry," the headmistress said as he began to brush the soot from his clothes. "Here you are." She handed him a cream coloured parchment envelope, and the familiar curly script on the front was indeed Dumbledore's.

_Harry_, it said.

"Did he write this knowing he was going to die...?" Harry whispered, all thoughts of the soot forgotten. "Did he know?" He looked over to McGonagall, who had moved around the desk to sit down in her chair. She shook her head, looking old and tired.

"There is more as well, Potter," the headmistress said, slowly rubbing her temple. "A few items that Albus wanted you to have... He wrote many notes to many people before he died – I, personally, think he knew he wasn't going to survive last year."

Harry nodded, holding his envelope lightly and noting how the letters of his name sparkled when he moved the parchment in the light. "What did he want me to have?" Harry managed, his voice tight and croaking.

Fawkes' perch was, of course, empty, but when Harry looked at it he felt as if he could hear the phoenix yet again – a far distant cry of one of the last phoenixes. It gave him strength, courage. He wouldn't be seen as weak – not even in front of McGonagall.

He had to show the world that he was strong enough to fight, that hope remained. It was a hell of a responsibility, and may even prove to be impossible – but Harry was willing to try. He owed Dumbledore that much.

"This," McGonagall said, and picked up something long, bound with leather straps and wrapped in cloth up off her desk. "Godric Gryffindor's sword."

Harry blinked, shocked, and his eyes jumped from McGonagall to the clear empty glass cabinet that had been home to the sword for the last few years. Slowly, carefully, he took the weapon from the headmistress, once again feeling its all too comfortable weight. It had been given a sheath, he saw, and the gem encrusted handle shone in the faint torchlight.

"Albus said," McGonagall began, "in a letter to me, that this weapon was yours by right, Potter. That if anyone had the right to wield it in these dark days it was you."

"Well I killed one snake with it..." he whispered, slipping his letter into his pocket and holding the cloth covered weapon flat on his palms. Harry stared at the sword for a moment and then nodded. "Was there anything else?"

McGonagall's mouth quirked into a smile just briefly and then she clicked her fingers. Harry jumped when a familiar creature appeared in the blink of an eye on her desk and propelled itself at his leg, latching on.

"I is being allowed to work for you, Harry Potter sir!" Dobby the house-elf said.

"Dobby!" Harry exclaimed. "You're what with the what now?"

McGonagall was smiling again, sadly this time. "Dobby was in the employ of Professor Dumbledore," she said. "He is currently unemployed, Mr. Potter."

Harry looked down to the elf and noticed how his ears drooped at the mention of Dumbledore and his eyes brimmed with tears. "It was a sad day, Harry Potter, when the great wizard Dumbleydore died."

"It was at that, Dobby," Harry nodded his agreement, taking a deep breath. He leant on the sword as he knelt down to look into Dobby's eyes. "And seeing as how you're out of work, my friend, how about you come and work for me? Ten galleons a week is the minimum wage – and I'm afraid you'll probably have to put up with Ron an awful lot, but if he gets in your way you have my permission to blast him down a flight of stairs."

Dobby blinked, mouthed a few words, and then burst into tears. "Harry Potter is too, too kind," he sobbed, taking off one of his many hats and blowing his nose on it. "Calls Dobby friend, Dobby is undeserving..."

"None of that now," Harry smiled, clapping the elf on his shoulder, which almost brought down his tower of hats. "We are friends, Dobby – and while you're working for me we'll have a lot of fun, okay. No rules except one, you're not allowed to punish yourself. Okay?"

Dobby sniffed, replaced his hat, and then nodded. "Too kind... too kind," the elf mumbled. "Agreed, Harry Potter sir, agreed. Dobby will blast your Wheezy if he gets in Dobby's way."

Harry laughed and then shook the elf's hand. "That is agreed."

"Now, Potter," McGonagall said, "there are a few other items Albus left you. I've placed them all in this trunk." She motioned to a trunk that Harry had not noticed lying alongside the desk. It was an average size trunk, brown with golden locks.

"What's in it?"

"His pensieve, amongst other things," McGonagall said, looking at him without blinking. She opened her mouth to continue, closed it again, and then decided to say something anyway. "Harry, I understand the need to keep certain things secret, but you must also understand our need. We need to know what Albus knew, what he told you, before he died. We are charged with the defence of our world and, as I'm sure you are aware, we are not in a favourable position in this war anymore...

"You saw Azkaban fall just a few hours ago," she continued. "That alone is going to shake our world to its very core – almost as much as it did when news spread of Albus's death. Azkaban was supposed to be an impenetrable fortress, Harry, what will fall to You Know Who next?"

"Call him Voldemort," Harry said, resting the sword on his shoulder. "Trust me; it is a step in the right direction. We've had this conversation before, Professor, and I told you all I could then."

"You told me nothing!" she exclaimed, losing her quietly patient aura for just a moment.

Harry kept a hold on his temper. "This is not your war to fight," he said calmly. "It is mine. It has always been mine, again for reasons I can't explain. You, the Order, the Ministry... even Dumbledore himself – you are all just spectators in this."

McGonagall's lips thinned and her eyes became two sharp points of ice. Harry felt the chill of her glare tingle down his spine. "Arrogance, Potter, has got many a young fool killed before. Don't make the mistake—"

"I know the cost," Harry cut in smoothly, "of making a mistake in this world. I've seen a lot of good people pay for it. My godfather for one, Professor. You want me to name others? Cedric Diggory, Dumbledore in trusting Snape, my parents. I know I'm not making a mistake here, with this choice, and you are just going to have to trust me... because now, with Dumbledore gone, I'm all you have."

It was true – deep down McGonagall knew it was true. But it was insanity to trust something so important to a boy, to someone so young. It was immoral, wrong, and yet Dumbledore had seen the need. Why? What made Potter so unique?

"I simply cannot accept that, Potter," McGonagall said, slicing her hand down through the air.

Harry blinked and then, with a sigh, nodded. "Dobby," he said, "can you please Apparate that trunk to the Burrow, I'll be along in a minute. If anyone asks tell them you're working for me now."

"Yes, Harry Potter sir," the elf smiled, jumping onto the trunk and, with a click of his fingers and a last adoring look at Harry, he and the trunk disappeared.

"Well, if that's all, Professor," Harry inclined his head to McGonagall. "I must be getting on with the day. Already had one vision of doom, and then lunch, and now this. I'm bubbling with anticipation, waiting to see what's next. I'm thinking nationwide terror when the _Prophet_ prints this Azkaban story."

One hand holding the sword and one hand in his pocket, Harry walked over to the fireplace. Once there he took a handful of powder from the ornate pot hanging on the mantle. "Goodbye, Professor."

"Harry..." McGonagall whispered, just before he dropped the floo powder. She was pale now, nervous. "I really do hope, Potter, that you know what you're doing."

Harry thought about that, as a few grains of powder sieved through his closed fist and caused small sparks to ignite at his feet. "Hmm... I think, I think I've got a better grasp on the situation that most." He smiled, he hoped it looked confident, and dropped the powder. "The Burrow," he cried in a flurry of green flames.

_Dear Harry,_

_I fear that if you are reading this letter, my dear boy, then I have left and gone on the one adventure in which you cannot yet follow me. If you are reading it then I have died. I do hope they have lemon drops where I have gone. Do not let my death cling to you, Harry, please promise me that. _

_I have seen a recurrent theme in stories such as ours – the old wise and bearded wizard usually meets an early demise. It seems that your story is no exception to that rule. For this is your story now, Harry, your life to live. You will do well, in that, I can see it._

_I have shown you my early memories of Tom Riddle and I have shown you how he became Lord Voldemort. I am afraid the rest – the remaining Horcruxes – is up to you. I believe you are more suited to this task as anyone can hope to be, given the terrible circumstances of that half-forgotten world we call the past._

_The wizarding world will need a hero, Harry, if it is to survive these dark times and even darker days. It may seem very dark now, my boy, but darkness should only make you think of light. It will, it always does, that is how you survive. Never fear him, Harry; he is nothing to be afraid of._

_You are linked to Voldemort through blood and magic – bonds unbreakable and as old as time itself. Trust your heart, dear boy, trust your mind, and I have no doubt that you will find and dispose of the remaining Horcruxes. As for the final piece, Voldemort himself, all I can offer you there is advice. Advice given by an old man who has watched many young men come and go over the terribly long years. _

You are stronger than you know, Harry, and smarter than you think. Never let anyone tell you different. You do not suffer fools well, but I fear there will be many of them to suffer now that I am gone. You are, whether you want to be or not, the light in the darkness that the people of our world will turn to. Do not let anyone influence you, or control your decisions, Harry – this is my final word to you.

_You will do just fine, I think,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

Harry let out a long breath he had forgotten he was holding. Dumbledore's letter felt very heavy in his hands, the parchment seemed very old. He closed his eyes and slowly folded it back into its envelope. It had felt odd, really odd, reading that.

And, oddly, he found himself hoping, even against his will to find the Horcruxes, he found himself hoping that wherever the old man had ended up he had lemon drops there.

"I'll do just fine..." he whispered, with a sense of finality, opening his eyes and gazing at the small house elf sitting on the old brown trunk in Ron's bedroom at the Burrow.

"Yes, Harry Potter sir," Dobby said. "Fine and dandy is how you will be."

Harry grinned and shoved the letter into his pocket. He had work to do, he knew, but that was okay. He had made his choice...

It had begun.

* * *

**_Please review._**

**-Ethan**


	5. Weddings & Demons

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the shirt on my back, and I had to steal that.

**A/N:** My thanks to all who have reviewed.

_**Harry Potter and the Soul of Chaos**_

Chapter 4 – Weddings & Demons

_Time is making fools of us again._

_Albus Dumbledore_

_July 20th_

Looking sharp in his formal dress robes, Harry tried unsuccessfully to straighten his unruly hair as best he could in the mirror. Today was the day of the wedding, so Harry thought it best he shaved off the fuzz and try to make himself look at least marginally presentable.

The last few days, since he had brought Dobby back to the Burrow, had gone by in a blur of studying, of preparing for today's wedding, and of just spending time out of each day with his friends.

Dobby had been a huge help wedding-wise. He had decorated the yard to Mrs. Weasley's and Fleur's specifications, magicked all the tables and chairs into place in a fraction of the time it would have taken most of everyone else, and was even now helping prepare the food in the kitchen with Mrs. Weasley and a load of Fleur's relatives, plus a few of the culinary inclined Order members.

Straightening his collar on the black silk robes, Harry shrugged them on his shoulders and smoothed out a few creases. There, he supposed, he was presentable enough. It had taken four hours yesterday, with Ginny and Fleur, to pick these formal robes and Harry was fairly certain that beyond today there would never be another chance for him to wear them. And while that solved the problem of worrying about getting food stains on the damn thing, it had seemed rather pointless to spend so much time choosing them.

_Time I could have spent memorising dark curses,_ he thought, casting a look in the mirror from across the hall in Ron's room and eyeing the trunk of surprises Dumbledore had left him. Amongst the pensieve and a few bits and bobs there had been quite a few texts on highly advanced spells – including the dark arts.

_You must know what you are fighting, Harry,_ a small note atop of the books had said.

Still, he wasn't seventeen yet and as such couldn't practice any of the spells, either light or dark, without tempting fate to incur the wrath of an already overstressed Ministry. Shaking his head, Harry clasped the collar of his dark shiny robes shut and abandoned his hair to the impossible.

"Wow," Ginny said from the doorway, on her way down the stairs, "you're looking sharp."

"You scrub up nicely as well," Harry commented, looking at her reflection in the mirror as he squirted a blob of toothpaste onto his toothbrush.

And Ginny did look nice – very nice. Traditionally the bridesmaid's dress was supposed to look terrible in order to make the bride look stunning. However, when that bride was Fleur the usual rules didn't apply. She could come wearing a dustbin bag and still light up the room. Anyway, Ginny's dress robes were strapless and more of a Muggle dress really.

Her creamy pale shoulders were bare and the dress trailed only an inch or so across the floor. It was a light pink colour and she had had her hair done up in an impressive auburn twist. Two sticks were caught in the back, holding her hair up, and Harry found himself smiling at her without being aware of it.

"Perhaps I'll see you later for a dance, Mr. Potter," Ginny smiled, inclining her head regally.

"I don't do dancing," Harry said through a mouthful of toothpaste. He spat it into the sink. "Death Eaters, Dark Lords, Dementors... sure. But dancing, that's one enemy that's got me beat."

Ginny just continued to smile, a glint in her eye. "We'll see," was all she said before disappearing down the stairs.

Wiping his mouth on his towel, Harry tossed it into the laundry basket and walked back across the hall into Ron's room. He picked up his glasses and placed them on his face before collecting all of the loose books and parchment on his bed and dumping it into Dumbledore's trunk. The sword of Gryffindor, gem encrusted hilt shining in the sheath, rested lightly on top of the pensieve. Harry frowned at it before closing and locking the trunk.

Breath minty fresh and robes on straight, Harry headed out of the room and down the stairs. That sword was a problem for another day. He couldn't really use it to any affective means... stabbing a basilisk through the brain didn't count when it was sheer dumb luck that had presented the opportunity, but still... no, for another day.

Downstairs the house was packed near to bursting with Weasleys, Delacours, Order members, other guests and a bunch of serving folks. The kitchen was off limits to everyone save the select few Mrs. Weasley was allowing to help cook – that included Dobby – and every few moments someone either came or went in the fireplace. Most everyone was holding a flute of champagne, having started the days drinking promptly as the clock had struck twelve.

Harry couldn't put names to at least three quarters of the lower floor of the house, but they all knew him. Despite his fringe covering the cursed scar, dozens of pairs of eyes followed him across the room and out into the backyard under the warm summer sun.

Glancing around for his friends, Harry spotted Hermione and Ron ducking into the pavilion that had been erected on the large empty field just opposite the Burrow and about a half mile from the woods where they had all gone swimming the other day. He made his way over the field, feeling quite warm in the black robes as the sun beat down upon him.

Not surprisingly, in fact he had expected it, Harry found Ron at the buffet eating his way through the majority of the nibbles and dips. Hermione stood nearby, looking both amused and bemused as Ron loaded up his plate with at least two of everything.

"Looking good, Harry," Hermione smiled, dressed in a sky blue dress of her own that was very flattering. Her hair had been done up all nice for the occasion as well. Harry knew she and Ginny had been getting ready since about eight that morning. "You missed a spot shaving," she _tsk_ed, stabbing the side of his face with her finger. "Ron did the same. You two are hopeless."

Removing her wand from the small bag she was holding, Hermione muttered a small spell and Harry's cheeks felt warm before all stray strands of stubble fell away. He had cut himself twice using his muggle razor.

"You'll have to teach me that spell," he said, glancing around at the cloth covered tables complete with silver dining ware, ornate candle holders and glasses with a bouquet of white flowers in the centre. Surrounding the pavilion were three long tables, one for each side save the entrance, and these were packed with food of all sorts from all places.

It was more than even Ron could munch his way through, but it wouldn't be from lack of trying.

"Grab a plate, Harry," Ron said, taking a bite into a small raspberry tart. "And fill it up with food from the far wall for me. Then get yourself something and await further instructions."

Hermione smiled. "Slow down, Ron, save some room for later."

"Is Ginny anywhere about?" Harry asked, with as much indifference as he could muster. He must have failed however because Hermione grinned again, this time knowingly.

"She's in the bridesmaid's tent with Fleur getting ready. Everything is getting underway soon," was the reply.

"Shouldn't Ron be in some tent somewhere with Bill?" was the next question. Harry raised an eyebrow in Ron's direction. He just shrugged and dropped a dollop of cream on his sponge cake.

"He should be," Hermione frowned. "But he escaped."

"Bill already ran me through it," Ron said. "I'm to stand there looking devastatingly handsome whilst the show unfolds. That's it. Charlie's the best man so I don't have to do much."

Outside the pavilion, Harry knew, rows of white chairs were arranged before the centrepiece of the ceremony. There were at least a hundred and fifty chairs. He knew, from Mr. Weasley, that he was seated up front with the rest of the immediate family. That had made Harry smile, and moreover feel accepted, when he was told.

"Devastatingly handsome?" Hermione chuckled. "Were they his exact words?"

"More or less," Ron shrugged again and poured himself a goblet of pumpkin juice. "That's what I heard, anyway."

Harry picked up a raspberry tart of his own from the table of food and took a bite. "Let's go sit out in the sun," he suggested. "I don't want to be standing around when the rest of the guests come out – they're already staring at me."

Ron chuckled but nodded, heading for the exit. "That's because unlike me, Potter, you are pig-ugly," he said, laughing at his own 'wit'.

Harry grinned, taking the insult with ease. "Your sister doesn't think so," he replied smoothly.

Harry and Hermione had seats in the front row on the left about halfway down the row. Ron took a seat next to Hermione for the time being and worked his way through the pile of food he had brought with him from the pavilion. A few dozen of the other seats were already taken as well, for the ceremony was soon to start.

"Half an hour," Hermione said, fanning herself with a fan she had conjured. "Ginny did look nice, didn't she, Harry?"

Harry nodded, staring at the grass in thought. "Aye, she did," he said. "Very, very nice."

Hermione smiled, satisfied, and dropped the subject by turning to Ron. "Do you want to dance later on, Ron?" she asked him.

Ron choked on his piece of pie and his eye bulged. Harry leaned over and patted him on the back until he could breathe again. His face had turned red and he coughed. "You handled that well," Harry commented as Ron looked at Hermione.

She was still smiling – Harry wondered if women knew how much power she had over a man when she was smiling – and Ron slowly nodded. "Sure thing," he said, clearing his throat again. "Um, sure thing..."

* * *

Matt Tristan stepped out of the shop and into a dingy backstreet in Paris, his rubber soled shoes silent on the cobblestone streets of the older parts of the city. He carried in his left pocket an illegal Portkey to London, whilst his right held his wand which was wrapped tightly inside his fist.

It was early in the afternoon and yet Matt felt cold on this warm summer day. He always hated going into places like the one he just left. They were cold, usually home to a few questionable characters. This one, the 'shop', had been entertaining several vampires and a few other creatures.

Still, the wizard proprietor was an old contact of Matt's, and he had supplied the Portkey at a reasonable enough price. It would take Matt and Courtney directly into a cheap flat he owned in his home city. It had been many years since he last stood in London, let alone the United Kingdom, but he couldn't help but feel excited about going home.

He had been a long time on the road, a long time spent in awful motel rooms and dodging curses and worse. With any luck the demon at Merton's place had lost him altogether, or even better someone had destroyed it, and he could relax for a few days before approaching Harry Potter, the Chosen One.

Matt clicked his teeth in thought at that as he stepped out onto a busy street; blending in with the crowd seamlessly and moving down passed a row of Muggle shops and a few coffee houses. In the distance he could see the tip of the Eiffel Tower where Courtney was waiting for him. She had been to sell the car and should have gotten a fair price for it.

Harry Potter was a problem he had not completely gotten his head around yet. If Merton was to be believed, and he had to be because of where he had gotten his information – a place where no lie could be told – then the Chosen One could open the gateway to the Source... the Source.

Matt's thoughts strayed from Potter at that. As they always did when he dwelled upon the greatest treasure in history. The Source of Magic, the Font of Power – the stone upon which entire worlds had been built... and eternal life and glory. The gateway to it was also another problem, as he didn't know where it was, but that would probably be the easy part.

Getting near Harry Potter, however, could be difficult. Chances were he was protected better than the Minister for Magic... but there would be a way, there always was. Potter would be of age soon enough and, as he was orphaned, there was a chance he could strike out on his own.

Hustled by the crowd, Matt crossed a road and made for the tower in the distance. His Sensitive sense was still warning him of danger, of impending doom, but it had been constantly like that for days now. Matt felt that he had lost a great advantage because of that. Now he couldn't know ahead of time if he was going to be attacked – some greater danger was affecting his extra sense.

What that was most likely meant pain in the future, and a lot of it, but he wished it would stop so he didn't have to keep looking over his shoulder. But look he did, just as he turned onto a lesser used narrow street to come at the tower from behind, and what he saw made him stop and gasp.

Merton – recently deceased – was standing only twenty feet away on the sidewalk and grinning at him. He was pale, his hair clung to his head, and his eyes didn't seem real. Matt drew his wand, never trusting Merton even when he was alive, even though now he was clearly not.

Stumbling across the street, which suddenly seemed to hold very few people and vehicles and grow a lot smaller, Merton lurched at Matt, still grinning insanely and limping to one side. He was wearing different clothes than those he died in, but Matt suspected the heavy black jacket he currently wore was to hide the rather large hole where his heart had been.

"Tristan..." Merton growled, and a trickle of blood fell from his mouth down his chin.

Any doubt Matt had had that this thing before him was human vanished in a heartbeat. "_Stupefy!"_ he cried, brandishing his wand down through the air. It fizzled and stuttered, issuing nothing more than a few red sparks. "Oh... shit," Matt stated, staring down at his wand.

The thing that had taken over Merton's body grinned and then, with devastating ferocity, the body of the old man erupted into white hot flames – flames that had burnt Matt recently – and destroyed all flesh and bone. The demon, the creature of fire spawned in Hell itself, stood in Merton's place.

Magic had ceased to work yet again in the presence of this creature, and Matt slowly began to back away, his thoughts instantly jumping to the Portkey in his pocket. He couldn't use it for a few reasons though – One, Courtney wasn't with him and he wouldn't leave her. Two, it was magic itself and wouldn't work now.

The white hot flames roared and thick tendrils of the flame coming from the beast suddenly whipped out across the ground towards Matt. Cursing, Tristan jumped backwards onto the bonnet of a parked car. The tires burst as the white hot flames drew near and the cobblestones were scorched.

Still moving back, Matt knew he had one advantage over the demon. Speed. He was faster and if he got far enough away he could Apparate over to the tower and Courtney. He hadn't before because of the heavy Muggle presence and he didn't need the attention – he was wanted in this country for stealing a few artefacts in the past, but that was neither here nor there right now.

Turning on his heel, Matt jumped back off the roof of the stationary car and bolted up the street of houses and shops which curved around at the top back down towards the tower. Behind him a wall of flame reared up and shot after him, eliciting screams from those unfortunate enough to be nearby. Thankfully most were diving into shops to avoid the heat and fire.

"_Tristan..."_

Matt did not know what he found more frightening. The fact that the creature could talk or that it knew his name.

Dashing up the street, Matt felt the familiar heat of the demon on his back. He glanced once over his shoulder and gasped at what he saw. A roaring wall of pure fire was washing down the street after him. A wave, even, of liquid hot flames that were eating up the very air he was struggling to breath.

"Good god..." he managed, imagining the charred and broken street behind that wave. _Who on earth could destroy this monster?_

It had the power to steal away magic itself, and probably further talents in its arsenal. Matt had to stay ahead of it – he knew that much – if he could just get off this street...

His clothes beginning to singe, Matt ducked down a side alley and jumped a slotted fence, feeling the rush of flames fill the alley behind him and also continue on up the street, destroying anything in its path. Sirens and screams assaulted his ears from behind as he hopped across a garden hidden away between the buildings on all sides. He could still see the tower ahead and to his left.

Not sparing a second to look over his shoulder again, Matt dashed over a dumpster and smashed through a window, entering the back of an old terraced house and cutting his right forearm open. He tried to Apparate but felt an insurmountable wall guarding the magic. He growled in frustration and ran through the deserted home. Unlocking the front door, he dashed back out into the streets of Paris and beheld the Eiffel Tower about a quarter of a mile away.

Turning to look over his shoulder, Matt glimpsed the garden he had just run through. It had become a raging inferno – the flame demon still pursued him. "Resilient bastard," Matt growled, breathing heavily, looking around for options now... it wasn't over until it was over – he had learnt that a long time ago.

His eyes fell on one of those Muggle taxis parked alongside the road. Racing across it just as the glass in the house exploded behind him and black smoke began to billow up into the sky, Matt shouted to get the driver's attention and then pulled open the passenger side door, slipping into the seat.

"Drive!" he shouted at the surprised man. Quickly, Matt dug into his pocket and removed a handful of notes, dropping them into the man's lap. "While we're young!"

"Wee, monsieur," the driver said, releasing the handbrake and pumping it into First, sensing Matt's haste.

Glancing once again over his shoulder as the taxi began to move, Matt watched the front of the house he had just been in explode outwards, shattering brick and glass alike and raining it down upon the pedestrians and other traffic.

"Merde!" the driver exclaimed, swerving as a brick came down on his windshield, shattering it. He began to slow down.

"Keep going!" Matt cried his eyes wild. "Drive! Drive! _Commande! Allez_ or something like that..."

"Merde, merde, merde..." the now pale driver cursed under his breath.

Using the side mirror, Matt watched red flames engulf the street behind him. Cursing as well, he began to check the bonds on his magic, not caring in the least if he disappeared in front of this Muggle. The barrier preventing him from spellwork began to ebb away as the taxi sped through the traffic lights and overtook a people mover.

Visualising the Eiffel Tower up ahead, Matt closed his eyes and was sucked away in the compression of Apparation. A moment later the taxi driver began to curse again, swerving across the road dangerously as his passenger disappeared in the blink of an eye.

Matt surprised one or two tourists as he appeared out of thin air at the base of the Eiffel Tower. Smiling sheepishly in the direction of the old folks with the camera, he winked and immediately began to scan the large open area for Courtney. Off in the distance he could see thick plumes of black smoke rising over the city. He shook his head and dashed over to the nearby public tables.

Courtney, bless her, was sitting alone with two bottles of cold water and her backpack slung over her shoulder. Dressed in hiking boots, cut-offs and a travelling vest, she looked every part the Muggle tourist surveying the fabled tower.

She saw him coming, took one look at his face, and sighed. "What did you do?" she asked resignedly.

Matt, his throat sore, ripped the cap off a botte of water and drained it quickly. He gestured to the smoke in the distance and the sounds of rushing sirens – the emergency services.

"You started a fire?" she asked.

Matt shook his head, tossing the now empty bottle aside. "Not me," he said, reaching into his pocket and removing the small hoop that was the portkey to London. "Grab a hold, babe."

Courtney blinked, clearly shocked. She looked around nervously at all the magically ignorant people seated nearby. "Right... right out here in the open?"

All of a sudden people were screaming. Matt and Courtney turned back towards the fire in the distance just in time to see a thin bar of pure white fire roar up into the sky, lashed red with hot flame, and disappear with a tremendous bang that rocked the ground they stood upon.

"Grab a hold," Matt repeated, clearly eager to be away.

Courtney didn't argue this time, quickly grabbing her half of the silver ring.

Scowling, Matt glared at the smoke over the buildings and then activated the portkey. "_Activate,_" he growled, and next to no one saw the two of them disappear.

* * *

With Hermione on his right and Mr. Weasley on his left, Harry watched the wizarding marriage ceremony unfold with a mild curiosity. He had never seen a wedding in the wizarding world, and whilst many aspects were similar to its Muggle counterpart, others were completely foreign and were solely the providence of magic.

There was no religion in the wizarding world – magical folk believed in magic and _knew_ there was a life beyond death. The fact that ghosts existed were testament to that, but still possessed and respected the awesome power that had been used to create and fashion the world. If there was a God, He existed not as a single being – but in everything, in energy itself.

So as it stood no priest or religious figure presided over the ceremony, but the bride's father stood in that place. Mr. Delacour was a handsome dark haired man, with a narrow gaze and a tough jaw. He seemed kind hearted however, as he smiled reassuringly at Bill, who stood in his formal robes in front of his father-in-law-to-be, and seemed, as most grooms do, a tad nervous.

Charlie, Ron, Fred and George all stood behind Bill – all in equal dress robes – smiling and looking out over the full rows of seats. Ginny, Gabrielle Delacour, and two of Fleur's cousins made up the bridesmaid's line, and any moment now Fleur herself would walk down the grassy aisle between her friends and family.

Harry knew that the wedding was originally supposed to be in France, but the sheer number of guests that were eventually invited made that impossible. More than half lived here in the United Kingdom, which made the wedding more practical to keep it in England. In the crowd Harry knew were various Order members including Tonks and Remus, so it was also one of the most secure weddings.

It wasn't likely that they would be attacked, with so many hundreds of wands all in one place, but it wasn't impossible either. Harry, personally, did not think Voldemort would bother, not so soon after his victory at Azkaban.

Harry sighed silently as he recalled the public outcry of dismay as news of Azkaban's fall reached the ears of the world at large. Fear had ruled that day – it could almost be felt in the very air – and Harry was sure that Voldemort had greatly enjoyed that.

The island fortress was held fast by his army of Dementors, Death Eaters, and Inferi... nothing was getting either on to it or off it without Voldemort's permission. That made Harry feel very, very angry... But today was not supposed to be about anger, and Harry unclenched his fists as the musicians, a wizarding band, began to play a soft tune and the mutterings in the crowd fell silent.

He turned, as did the rest of the crowd, and many gasped as Fleur began her walk down the aisle, head held high and a small smile on her lips as the long flowing dress she wore shimmered and sparkled in the changing rays of light. Turning back to Bill, Harry saw him close his mouth – which had opened in shock – and collect himself as his future wife floated down towards him.

Mr. Delacour smiled at his daughter and, a moment later she stood under the arch next to Bill, each strand of her hair shining and her eyes alight with joy. Bill whispered something and Fleur laughed, patting his beard which hid his war wounds, before turning to her father.

"We are gathered here before Magic," Mr. Delacour began, putting a hand on his daughter's shoulder. "We are gathered here to marry Bill Weasley to my daughter, Fleur."

Harry zoned out at that – he couldn't help it. His scar began to sting and prickle, making his eye twitch. A surge of emotion rushed through him and he swayed in his chair, feeling... feeling something that wasn't his own. Black spots appeared before his eyes and this bright summer's day dimmed.

Harry wasn't aware that he had raised a hand to hold his scar, but he had, and Hermione noticed. He couldn't see her – he couldn't see anything as the world around him faded to black. The feeling of... of curiosity – yes, he was sure that was what it was – deepened and then he saw something before his eyes that no one else could.

A great gout of flame rushed up towards the sky over an unfamiliar city, but with a very familiar landmark. The Eiffel Tower. Harry only got a glimpse of what Voldemort had seen, but that glimpse was seared into his memory. Like the Dark Lord, he recognised that that flame was not natural, that it was of magic – had to be – and thousands of Muggles had seen it.

He shook his head and his vision returned. Holding his burning scar, he looked to his left and right and met Hermione's concerned eyes. She raised an eyebrow in question but he just shook his head. Thankfully it appeared he had not screamed out, and the wedding was proceeding as planned.

In fact, he had missed the entire ceremony. Fleur and Bill still stood under the flower covered arch, both had drawn their wands and crossed them and a thin beam of white light connected the two sticks of wood. Fleur was crying tears of joy, Mr. Delacour announced them married, and Bill kissed her. Ten or so minutes had passed in that last... vision.

Thunderous applause rang out across the field and Hermione put her mouth near Harry's ear. "Are you okay?" she asked, shouting a bit over the cheering of the crowd, and clapping herself. "You've looked dazed the last few minutes."

"Scar was twitching," he told her the truth, part of it. "Nothing too bad."

It wasn't too bad, as it had not hurt really at all. It was terrifying, however, that the connection with the Dark Lord was deepening. This last _vision_ had been a sure sign of that as anything could be. He was fused closer with his enemy than ever before, and the feelings that used to be just simple happiness or raging anger, were now greater, deeper, to abstract emotions and thoughts – like curiosity.

Bill and Fleur walked arm in arm back down the aisle, all smiles and tears. Harry knew little more about wizarding weddings than he had done an hour ago, but he did feel a surge of happiness that everything had gone off without a hitch. Even Voldemort's brief intrusion into his mind slipped away as he rose from his chair, clapping now, and followed the newlyweds over to the pavilion.

The dozens of circular tables with white silk tablecloths each had a name place and Harry knew where his was. The band, dressed in their fancy dress robes, took up a place on the small stage in front of the large dance floor and began to play softly as everyone found there seat.

Following Hermione, Harry walked over to a table near the centre of the high open walled pavilion, slipping in smoothly onto the white chair and running his fingers along the golden curvy letters of the gilded card with his name upon it. Ron sat down on his other side and Hermione next to him.

Ginny arrived a few moments later, drying her eyes and smiling as she sat down next to Harry. She hugged him she was so happy and Harry returned it, wiping away a tear drop just below her eye.

"Wasn't the ceremony just beautiful?" she beamed, looking at him with her wide eyes. "Bill seems so happy."

"It was nice," Hermione agreed and Ron rolled his eyes, looking once again towards the tables packed with food. The main meals would be served soon, however, within the hour, and then the party would really begin. Dancing, singing, eating and drinking. Harry was looking forward to it, even if he was already being stared at by the magical folk walking passed his table.

A few more of the younger teenagers also sat at their table, including Fleur's sister Gabrielle and a bunch of her cousins. There were a handful of other young wizards and witches as well, obviously offspring of the friends of the families. All of them did a double take at recognising Harry, some of the witches blushing deeply, and Gabrielle smiled and waved at him.

"Looks like you got yourself a bunch of fans there, Harry," Ginny whispered, taking a sip from her goblet of sparkling champagne. It was a special occasion, so pretty much everyone fifteen and up was allowed a drink of alcohol. "Should I be jealous?"

Harry nodded. "Extremely," he said. "Hi, how are you?" He waved to the group across the table.

Fairly soon the afternoon food was served. Harry had a spicy chicken breast with an odd sticky sauce that actually didn't taste half bad. For the next hour or so he made polite conversation with the other people at his table, but some of it was more forced than anything else. The younger kids were shy and the older nervous. Still, it was a good afternoon.

After the food the wedding guests started to mingle amongst one another, leaving their tables and some began dancing. The band struck up a well known wizarding song but it was lost on Harry. The pavilion was full of the happy sounds of conversation, of singing and dancing and the guests attacked the large elongated buffet with ferocity. Ron was glad he had gotten into it early.

Sitting at the table Harry soon realised wasn't an option, as most of the guests seemed to know who he was and where he was sitting. Ten minutes after the meal finished and he had shook twelve different hands and forgotten twelve different names. So, reluctantly, Harry allowed Ginny to drag him out onto the dance floor.

Fleur and Bill had led the first dance and now the floor was packed with couples dancing slowly to a soft waltzing along song. Harry placed his hand on Ginny's waist and she leaned in close against him, shuffling side to side to the slow music.

"Do you think Hermione will get Ron out on the dance floor?" she asked him, gazing over his shoulder with mirth in her eyes.

Harry grinned. "She asked him earlier on and he nearly swallowed his tongue. Sometimes I worry about that lad."

"Me too," Ginny said and then, just to throw him off balance, asked another question. "Do you want to kiss me, Harry?"

Harry didn't flinch. He looked into her eyes and thought about the reasons for their break-up a few weeks ago... it hadn't been fair, on her, and he knew it was incredibly selfish of himself to have done it. But it had been for Ginny's safety, and for his independence. He had to do what he had to do and he had to do that alone.

"I would very much like to," he whispered, gazing down at the floor and his shoes. He was already cursing himself for saying that.

Ginny nodded. Spots of red appeared in her cheeks. "That's good to know," she smiled. "Let's go get some cake."

* * *


	6. Plans and Plots

**_Disclaimer:_** Not mine, all belongs to someone else.

**_A/N:_** Thanks for reading and please review. Sorry about the long update wait.

__

_**Harry Potter and the Soul of Chaos**_

Chapter 5 – Plans and Plots

_We cannot guarantee victory, but only deserve it._

_Churchill _

With the wedding done with and his coming of age birthday less than a week away, Harry began to plan in earnest his campaign against Voldemort.

He had always liked the word campaign, and that was what it was, but a better word would have been simply war. He was preparing for his war against Voldemort, and all that that would entail. Harry had no illusions about this, however – he was most likely doomed to die – but he'd make sure he was remembered before the end.

Remus had explained it to him days ago that he was, as the werewolf had put it, a power unto himself. One of the power centres in the wizarding world, having outlived even Albus Dumbledore in the war against Voldemort. Harry wasn't exactly sure how far his influence spread, but if it was as big as Remus had said, then it would be far enough for one aspect of his plans.

One aspect, yes, one small aspect in the grand scheme of things – but something he hoped would grow and spread his influence even further. Those were his thoughts as a Ministry owl landed softly on his shoulder. It took flight again as Harry removed the cream coloured envelope from its leg.

He was sitting outside of the Burrow, in the empty chairs in the empty pavilion that had yet to be cleared away yet from the wedding two days ago. It was early morning, but the day was already starting to get warm as the sun sparkled on the top of the trees in the forest a quarter of a mile away.

Harry broke the wax seal on the envelope and read the response to his enquiry yesterday with a growing smile, and a fuzzy feeling of excitement in his stomach.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_In regard to your letter of Monday the 22nd of July, 1996, please find below the corresponding law to your enquiry:_

_Article 54, para 3.7: By law, and reference under law, all news and media proprieties are required under the Prophet Agreement to register for a licence to print if, and part thereafter, the printing exceeds one hundred and fifty (150) copies._

_What this means is that so long as you do not print more than one thousand copies of a news, propaganda, or informative paper, then you are not required to apply for a licence to do so._

_  
The Ministry of Magic thanks you for your enquiry. _

Angus Teatooth  
Ministry Law Officer  
Department of Magical Law Enforcement

Harry smiled, slowly but surely, and pocketed the letter. Phase one of his diabolical plan could now be set in motion.

Too long, he knew, had the world at large lived in ignorance of Voldemort and his crimes. Sure, they knew a lot, but not the whole truth – something they had a right to know. The Ministry censored the worst of it, and they controlled the _Prophet._ Using his influence, not to mention his galleons, Harry intended to change that.

And have some fun doing it.

He already had thoughts for the first issue, but again he was getting ahead of himself there.

His paper would show the world that a lot more was being done against the Dark Lord than they thought, and that he was taking an active stand. Reading the _Prophet_, Harry had never seen one article about any individual standing, and working actively against Voldemort.

He'd show them that, if they believed in peace, they had to stand their ground.

The Ministry would probably hang him for it and move fast to change the law after the first issue, but the damage would be done by then, and with any luck pubic opinion will be so much more on his side. The paper could go underground, change its name...

He was getting too far ahead of himself.

First things first, he needed to find a real estate agent and ask about securing a few properties in both the magical and muggle worlds. An office in Diagon Alley and a backup building buried deep within muggle-London. Grimmauld Place was his, he knew, but so did too many others so that was out of the question as a secret location.

Walking back to the house, Harry hoped no one was in the sitting room as he wanted to be gone before anyone could convince him otherwise, or ask to accompany him. He intended to get a lot done and could do it faster alone. Ron and Hermione were upstairs asleep, most likely, and Ginny should be as well. It was early in the morning.

So Harry clicked his teeth together in surprise when he entered the Burrow through the side door in the kitchen and found Ginny, dressed for the day, twirling her wand lazily between her fingers at the breakfast table.

"Caught you," she said.

"Blast," Harry cursed. "What gave me away?"

Ginny shrugged. "I heard you getting up and then I saw you out in the field from my window. You were all dressed up but with no place to go, Harry, so I planned ahead. Where are you going?"

Harry shrugged now and sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. "Diagon Alley. I'm gonna go buy a part of it."

Ginny raised an eyebrow. "Which part?"

"Something in the main street that anyone visiting the alley has to pass," Harry replied. "I'm going now, the shops should have just opened. Do you want to leave your mum a note?"

Ginny thought about it and then nodded. She rushed from the kitchen and scribbled a hurried note with a quill and ink in the sitting room, before coming back and placing it on the table in clear sight.

"Let's go then," Harry said, heading over to the fireplace. He took a pinch of floo powder from the pot and tossed it down, smiling at Ginny as he disappeared and, in the familiar blur of green flames, appeared in the Leaky Cauldron. He bent his knees a little before landing and was happy that he only stumbled minutely.

Ginny soon followed him and, avoiding the gazes of the witches and wizards in the pub at this early hour, he offered her his arm which she took and they made a fast line for the alley.

Again, at this hour, it wasn't that busy, but Harry and Ginny still moved quickly down the sparsely populated alley. Harry had his wand attached firmly in his wand holster and could summon it with a flick of his wrist, and his eyes scanned the shops and shoppers quickly, looking for any threats.

There were none, and the two of them moved fast alongside the apothecary and then went passed Gringotts. Hidden away near Knockturn Alley, and behind Ollivander's, was the Diagon Alley Lease Office. A small building, with only two storeys and a selection of available property posters in both Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade in the window. Harry glanced at that for a moment before entering the office.

The walls were white, the floor was white, and scattered across it was mahogany furniture and, on the walls, portraits of the alley and wizarding property. A spiral staircase in the far corner arced its way up and through the ceiling to the second floor.

Seated behind a desk nearby, near what was obviously the waiting room – named so for the chairs and selection of old magazines on a coffee table – was a young witch, reading a copy of the latest Witch Weekly. Harry almost winced when he saw his face on the front of it.

"Can I help you?" the witch asked.

Harry led Ginny over to the desk and took a seat in front of it. Ginny took the other one.

"Hello there," Harry said, giving the secretary his best winning smile. "My name's Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived and Witch Weekly's poster boy. I'm here to see about buying a shop so I can start a smear campaign against anyone who gets in my way, specifically the wanker calling himself Lord Voldemort."

Ginny snorted laughter and held her hand against her mouth to stop it, as the secretary gasped and dropped her magazine – whether because of Harry or the fright at Voldemort's name she didn't know – but it was hilarious none the less.

"Mr. Potter," the woman breathed, her eyes jumping to his picture on the cover of Witch Weekly. "I... I'll go get Mr. Andrews, the property manager..."

"I'll be happy to wait," Harry smiled. "Do you mind if I read your magazine while you're away?"

"Not at all, sir," she squeaked, and then blushed at her squeak, before practically running for the spiral staircase across the room.

"Well," Harry said once she was gone, and reached across the desk for the magazine, "at least she didn't put her elbow in the butterdish."

Ginny turned as red as her hair and then smacked him in the arm – hard. "Git," she said.

Chuckling, Harry flicked through the magazine until he came across an article about himself. His laughter filtered away to nothing. Ginny, out for revenge, snatched the magazine from him and scanned the article with barely suppressed mirth in her eyes.

"_The Secret Life of Harry Potter,_" she quoted the article. "_Harry enjoys longs walks down the beach at sunset—"_

"I've never even seen the ocean," he stressed.

"I never knew you had a soft spot for auburn haired girls," Ginny grinned, reading on.

Harry snatched the magazine back and tossed it over the desk and into the opposite chair, as a tall man walked down the spiralling stairs, his hand extended in welcome before he was even within ten feet of Harry.

He stood up and shook it. "Mr. Andrews?"

The man, who was a giant at about six and a half feet tall, grasped Harry's hand in return and shook it vigorously. He had a long moustache that hung down to his chin and sideburns that were cut sharp horizontally against his cheeks. Grey hair, grey eyes, and a beaming smile made him seem friendly.

"Mr. Potter," Andrews exclaimed. "What an honour! What a true—"

"This is Ginevra Weasley, my business partner," Harry motioned to Ginny and, finally, Andrews let his hand go and took hers.

"Miss Weasley," Mr. Andrews nodded, shaking her hand. "A pleasure to meet you, too."

"Hi," Ginny smiled.

"Let's get down to it then," Harry said, after the pleasantries were done with. "Mr. Andrews, I noticed one or two properties in the alley this morning were available for purchase. I think most of the buildings that have been boarded up were sporting signs for your office. I'd like to buy one, please."

"Of course, sir," Andrews said, all business. "Please step upstairs to my office and we'll have a look at the available properties."

Harry nodded, smiled, and took Ginny's hand as they followed the tall man up the spiral stairs and into a more comfortable looking room. It looked lived in. Leather sofas, strewn with files and papers, portraits hanging askew on the walls and a desk simply overflowing with parchment scrolls.

Mr. Andrews flicked his wand and several dozen files flew across the room, out of the chairs before his desk, and fell in slump on the floor. Light from outside streamed in through the windows which looked out over Gringotts.

"Now," he said. "As you said, Mr. Potter, with the current climate and atmosphere in the wizarding world there are a lot of available properties springing up all over the world. Namely, in Diagon Alley, where you expressed your interest, we have a dozen stores of varying size and cost available."

Harry and Ginny took their seats as Mr. Andrews, who seemed to know where everything in his messy office was, flicked his wand yet again and a dozen brown files appeared on the desk before him.

"The war has sent prices plummeting, I bet," Harry said, thinking fast. He was extremely wealthy, he knew, having both access to his personal fortune and the mountains of galleons Sirius had left him. He might be able to make some sound investments if he was careful, and if he won the war.

Mr Andrews sighed and waved his hand towards the window. "An all time low," he said. "Great if you're buying, but terrible for selling. I've bought back twelve leases in the last year alone, as investments for the future, and it has nearly bankrupted me. Albus Dumbledore's death hasn't helped any either. I doubt my investments will pay off..."

Harry muttered a silent prayer as he thought of Dumbledore, closing his eyes and squeezing Ginny's hand. She squeezed back.

"Value just keeps dropping?" he asked.

"Aye, it does," Andrews sighed.

Harry nodded. "So... before the war, what would have been the price of... say, Ollivander's?"

"I don't own that lease. Ollivander took off on his own – he still owns that property."

"Still," Harry said. "How much would it have sold for?"

Mr. Andrews linked his fingers together and Harry could see the numbers whirring through his head. "Two hundred and fifty thousand galleons to buy outright. Three hundred galleons quarterly to lease."

"And now?"

The property manager laughed weakly. "Now... fifty thousand galleons to purchase, and twenty galleons a month to lease."

"That bad, huh?"

Mr. Andrews just shook his head. "Azkaban fell and that was another blow both to the war and the economy. If this trend continues... I could sell you my offices here for two knuts, and think I made a profit."

Harry shared a silent look with Ginny in which he came to a decision about the future, and how he would move on from here. "Can I see the property you have available?"

Mr. Andrews sighed and nodded, handing the first folder to Harry after glancing at the title. "This one is my finest. In prime location just three stores down from the wall into the Leaky Cauldron. 150 square metres on each floor– it's magically expanded on the inside." Here Andrews sighed again. "Before the war, it'd cost three hundred thousand galleons. Now, taking everything into account, you could purchase it outright for sixty thousand galleons. A steal..."

Harry flipped through the folder with a frown of thought upon his face. He looked at the pictures, at the second and third floors, and then imagined all that empty space being put to a good use. He made a decision.

"I'll take it," he said. "What else have you got?"

Mr. Andrews just nodded. He felt a marginal relief that he had gotten rid of the drain on his funds. He had purchased it for ninety five thousand galleons. A loss, but it could have been worse.

"Very well, Mr. Potter," Andrews said. "The remaining eleven properties are not as spacious as this one. Seven are located in Diagon Alley, whilst the other four are abandoned in Knockturn Alley."

Harry accepted all of the folders from the man, but raised an eyebrow when he mentioned Knockturn Alley. "I would've thought that business would've been booming down that alley," he said. "What with Voldemort doing the rounds again."

Andrews shivered at hearing the name of the Dark Lord, but to his credit did not squeal like most were apt to do. "There is more to the alley than the dark arts, Mr. Potter," he said. "The deeds you hold were once an apothecary, another was a book store, and I believe one was a junk store holding odds and ends and whatnot."

Harry nodded. "Perhaps I could put them to some use..." he mumbled. He didn't have the time to look through each and every file, but he recognised the boarded up storefronts of the ones he did.

"You know what," he said, glancing at Ginny. "I reckon we should buy them all."

That made Mr. Andrews sit up a lot straighter, a gleam of hope in his eyes. Ginny just shook her head with a smile and shrugged. "Whatever you reckon, Harry. I don't know your master plan, so I can't help."

Harry chuckled. "I'm making this up as I go along," he said and then turned back to the property manager. "Ring 'em up, Mr. Andrews. I'll take them all, and whatever you got going in Hogsmeade as well."

It took Mr. Andrews a few minutes to put a contract together in order for Harry to sign, and in that time Harry had a look through the five properties available in Hogsmeade. Three were along the main street whilst two others were houses, not shops, buried in the suburb of the village. Extremely cheap, of course, because of the war. Harry threw them on the pile of title deeds he seemed to be collecting.

"Are you mad?" Ginny whispered, away from Mr. Andrews hearing. "Perhaps you should buy Hogwarts next! What, by Merlin, could you want all of these shops for?"

"Just the beginnings of a plan up here," he replied, whispering too, and tapped the side of his head. "Besides, I doubt this'll even dent the interest payments Gringotts pay me every year. I'm putting it to good use, Gin, you'll see."

Mr. Andrews finished the contract and papers needed to sign a few minutes later. He looked like all his Christmases had come at once. Seventeen bad investments were being taken off his hands, and his business would survive. There was just one small matter to take care of...

"Mr. Potter," Andrews said. "Your guardian needs to sign these papers, too, I'm afraid. As you are still underage."

_Bugger_, Harry thought. He would not return to the Dursleys! His birthday was only a few days away and—

"Why?" he asked Andrews.

"Well, sir, and it is simply a legal formality, your judgement, in the eyes of the law, is not sound until you become of age." Andrews rubbed his knuckles nervously, obviously not happy with explaining this to Harry Potter. "Your guardian needs to sign this as proof that I did not cheat you out of your money."

Harry was thinking fast again. Earlier that summer, once he had told the Dursleys he was leaving, they had practically packed his bags for him and thrown him out into the street until the Order arrived to take him to the Burrow. So... technically... his guardians had _thrown_ him out, and he had no guardian.

"I don't have a guardian," he told Mr. Andrews. "All of my family is dead, killed by Voldemort, and I am currently staying with friends that have no legal control over me. With Dumbledore dead I don't think anyone does. I'm an adult, Mr. Andrews. And I've no one to sign those papers."

Mr. Andrews nodded. "Still," he said, "and I sense that it would be best if you owned these properties without any loopholes or... infractions against standard procedure. Would I be right if I said that the Ministry would not be happy with the use these buildings would be put to?"

Harry didn't answer the question, but his eyes sparkled in that small office.

Mr. Andrews took that as his answer. "Then, sir, I suggest you wait a few days until your birthday to purchase these buildings. Any contracts signed before your seventeenth could be declared void by the Ministry, and they could seize the titles and deeds to the property in question."

"Bastards," Harry growled, thinking and once again rearranging his plans. "I need those buildings now, or at least the first one. I need to get underway..." he finished quietly.

"Well, Mr. Potter," Mr. Andrews said thoughtfully. "Technically, I own these buildings. They are mine to do with as I would... if you sign these papers now, and also a bank note for their sum total, then I'll hand over the keys today so you can use them, and not put the forms in for processing with the Ministry until the 31st."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "So they'd still be yours for the next few days," he smiled. "Can I borrow your quill?"

"Certainly, sir."

Harry signed the long winded contract, glancing it over once. He trusted the property manager, but that was no reason to sign the thing blindly. Everything seemed in order, and he let Ginny read it too, so he signed it. Next came the bank note, and Harry had to fill in his vault number and write in the price to pay.

All seventeen properties, the most expensive costing sixty thousand galleons, cost...

"Five hundred and forty two thousand six hundred and sixty seven galleons," Mr. Andrews smiled. "They'll be legally yours one working day after your birthday. So that would be Thursday, August 1st. Let me just go get the keys for you..."

With a portfolio of title deeds, the originals, under his arm and a ring of keys in his pocket – seventeen of them, each with a label for convenience sake – Harry headed back out onto Diagon Alley with Ginny on his other arm. He was happy with his purchases, very happy, and would put them to good use.

There was still the problem of securing some property in the muggle world, but that could wait for now. He would get to it eventually, after purchasing a few more items for the propaganda aspects of his plan. Namely a printing press or two, a lot of parchment and ink, and a few other delights that should set Voldemort's anger aflame.

But for other parts, other items, he would have to explain his needs and whatnot to Remus and a few other people that could help him. He was sure they would because, after all, with Dumbledore gone they had no one else to turn to but the only one left alive who had ever faced Voldemort and lived.

Harry Potter was the hope and salvation of the wizarding world, and he felt something big on the horizon. As he walked hand in hand with Ginny back up to the Leaky Cauldron, Harry knew that everything was about to change. It was a feeling he had felt more than once in his life, and it always meant trouble.

This time, it was really big. He didn't know what it meant, but the future was on his shoulders. There were Horcruxes to find, plans to begin, people to befriend and Dark Lords to slay. But he wasn't alone anymore – he had friends alive to help him.

Harry smiled at Ginny, and kept an eye out for danger, and just prayed and hoped that she survived the coming months and years. He really hoped the war wouldn't last years, but it was a possibility. He'd do everything he could to keep her alive.

But there was a darker side to him as well...

Whilst he would do anything he could to keep Ginny alive, he would also do anything he could to see Snape, and Voldemort, annihilated.

Harry had never wanted to have to kill, but just thinking now about all the pain and insanity the Dark Lord had caused, and the betrayal Snape had wrought, he could have struck them down right then without regret.

His anger was fuelled by the fall of Azkaban and the lack of response from the Ministry. But what could he do? He had to do something, if those in power wouldn't. The world, and its wars, were his playground if he just put his resources towards the right goal. This newspaper he planned on printing was a worthy goal, but a small one.

It didn't reduce the number of Death Eaters Voldemort had, or physically harm the madman in any way. Violence alone would have to do that, but Harry knew he wasn't that exceptional when it came to magical power.

And, as always, he came full circle to the Horcruxes. To find them and destroy them was his life's purpose. But he had precious little to go on... Dumbledore's advice and a crumpled piece of parchment... the task seemed all but impossible.

"You worrying about the future again?" Ginny asked, frowning at him.

"Er... no," he replied, lying miserably.

Ginny's eyes flared. "What have I told you about that?"

Harry smiled slyly. "Something about not counting your chickens till they've hatched... or something? I don't know. I was probably lost in your eyes at the time."

Ginny blinked, hesitated, and then slowly smiled. "Very smooth, Mr. Potter," she said. "And fast, very fast. Someone should give you an award for that. Is that all you can do, though?"

Harry shook his head, chuckling. "I'm available for Dementor banishments and I can slay the occasional Dark Lord, Gin, you know that."

Ginny shook her head and ran her hand through his hair as they entered the Leaky Cauldron. "Let's head home so mum can kill us both for leaving without protection."

Harry paled. "I think I'd rather stay here and wait for something to attack me than face your mother."

"Be brave, Harry," Ginny said, squeezing his hand.

* * *


	7. Birthday Resolve

**_Disclaimer:_** Not mine, blah and blah.

**_A/N:_** Well, folks, I can do nothing but apologize for the long time between updates in this story. My only excuse is that I do work quite a bit, and have very little time for writing these days. Nevertheless I'm going to try and get this story off the ground over the next few weeks, getting it going, and we'll just see what happens. Have a good one, y'all.

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_**Harry Potter and the Soul of Chaos**_

Chapter 6 – Birthday Resolve

_"Do you believe in the devil? You know, a  
supreme evil being dedicated to the temptation,  
corruption, and destruction of man?"  
"I'm not sure that man needs the help."_

_- Calvin & Hobbes_

_July 31st_

Matt Tristan spent a few days recuperating in his old apartment in London after the second encounter with the fire demon. His old burns hadn't completely healed before he was singed again, and it was beyond uncomfortable to even walk.

Courtney was a great help, going out into the city to fetch food and water, whilst treating his burns as best she could with what potions they had and muggle medicines purchased from Boots Pharmacy.

To keep himself busy, Matt tracked the movements of Harry Potter as best he could through the _Daily Prophet_. Apparently he had been seen briefly in Diagon Alley the other day, had attended a wedding of a close friend and was now staying with friends at an undisclosed location. Not much help at all – Matt briefly considered just owling the Chosen One, but what would he say?

_Dear Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived, Chosen One,_

_Sorry to bother you, but a dead friend of mine, who was possessed by hellspawn, happened to mention that the 'Chosen One' would be able to open the way to the Source. Now, in case you're not familiar with the Source, I'll enlighten you. It is a myth that, after many years, has finally gained a shred of credibility. The Source is the collective of all magic._

_It is Magic – raw and pure magic. And you, my good son, can take me there. In some way you're the key. I don't know how or where it would work, or even if it would, but I believe this merits some investigation. What do you say, kid?_

_All the best,_

_Matt Tristan, Treasure Seeker_

"Probably not the best way to go about it," Matt mused in his bed, staring at the television but not really watching it. Some news about unexplained deaths on the east coast of Scotland.

He hoped Courtney came back with some lunch soon – he was starving. She had gone out for the papers and some more bandages for his arms.

In a few more days he should be healed enough to seek out Harry Potter and, well, explain his proposition as best he could. The boy needed help, that much was clear. Everyone was out to influence him, if they weren't working against him or trying to kill him.

Voldemort was a problem as well, Tristan knew. Or could become a problem should he become involved with Potter. They were enemies, perhaps linked by prophecy, and with one it was highly likely he would run into the other.

_Burn that bridge when I come to it,_ he thought, as his stomach rumbled. "I hope she remembers my sandwich."

* * *

The first thing Harry did on his birthday morning was apparate down the stairs and then back up them again, simply because he could without fear of punishment from the Ministry. The next thing he did was shower and shave, using his wand to trim the fuzz before strapping it into the wand holster around his wrist.

That done, he proceeded downstairs again – walking this time – for breakfast. "Dobby," he called, and it was still early in the morning. The house was still asleep. The small house elf appeared next to him with a pop.

"Yes, Harry Potter sir?" Dobby answered his summons.

"How are your cooking skills, Dobby?" Harry asked.

"I has learnt a lot from my time at Hoggywarts," the elf replied proudly.

"Do you want to help me make breakfast then, for everyone here at the Burrow?"

Dobby nodded most excitedly.

Harry grinned. "Then bring some of the supplies from the safe house in Hogsmeade. The good stuff mind – none of that awful dry bread."

"Dry bread be lasting a long time," Dobby defended the bread.

"Dry bread be tasting like a rock," Harry replied wryly. "Quickly now Dobby, I'm thinking pancakes and bacon, sausages and egg."

Dobby disappeared as quickly as he had arrived, just as Harry entered the empty kitchen.

It wouldn't take the elf long to bring the food from the house in Hogsmeade. Dobby knew where everything was, as he had been preparing the buildings and homes Harry had bought for the last few days. The home in Hogsmeade had been gutted of everything when Harry went to inspect it, save an awful pair of purple curtains on the second floor. With Dobby's help Harry had begun making the place safe and well stocked.

As for his other properties, they were progressing in various stages of disarray and chaos. Having spoken to Remus about acquiring some printing presses to print his... truthful propaganda... Harry had expected to be well underway by now – it had been almost a week – but there were delays at every turn.

For one, Remus was intensely curious about his want of the printing equipment, although he had agreed to make some inquiries. That was going nowhere fast. He had told the werewolf one or two details but nothing major. It would be one helluva surprise, and that made Harry grin. No one knew the full details of his very early plan.

"I has returned, Harry Potter," Dobby said, and indeed he had. Engrossed in his thoughts as he had been, Harry never heard him _pop_ back. "Plenty of food to be getting on with," the elf continued, dumping a box of food stuffs onto the table and jumping into preparation mode. He clicked his fingers and a frying pan appeared onto the hot plate of the stove. "We is going to be cooking up a feast for today."

"Anything I can do to help?" Harry asked.

Dobby looked uncertain. A master offering to help wasn't natural, even to him. "You... you is knowing how to cook, Harry Potter?"

A shadow fled across Harry's face, one of anger, as he recalled all of the meals he had made for the Dursleys over the years. Oh yes, he knew how to cook – and cook well. "I could probably manage the eggs," he said, and forced a smile for the cautious elf. "Though if I make a mistake you tell me, Dobby."

"Harry Potter will not be making any mistakes," Dobby said, with utter confidence. "Harry Potter is a brave and clever wizard. No, Harry Potter does not make mistakes."

Harry smiled sadly at that and patted the elf on his shoulder. "Thanks, Dobby," he said, "but I've made a few mistakes over the years." _Mistakes that cost at least three people their lives. I'm sorry Cedric... Sirius... Dumbledore..._

Dobby shook his head. "But only a few, sir," the little elf replied.

Harry sighed. "You want to make a start on those pancakes then?"

"No, pancakeys last, Harry Potter, otherwise they is spoiling before the sausage is ready."

A ghost of a smile rippled across Harry's face. "Of course. Sorry, Dobby, my mistake."

Cooking with Dobby was a lesson in patience – for Dobby. The little elf found it very hard to slow himself down to Harry's pace, especially because Harry insisted on doing everything without magic. Had Dobby had his way the breakfast for about a dozen would have been ready in ten minutes and would have tasted delicious.

As it was, the smell of burning bacon brought down a few members of the house earlier than usual. Dobby fretted over the crispy meat but Harry assured him it was fine, that Ron would eat it without noticing a thing. True to Harry's word, Ron dug into the pile of charred bacon as soon as he stumbled into the kitchen.

"'Appy birfday, mate," Ron said, flinging a hastily wrapped parcel at Harry.

Harry grinned and let Dobby handle the cooking so he could sit down and open his present. There was a lot of tape but once he got through that Harry let the wrapping fall away and smirked. It was a bottle of Ogden's Finest Firewhiskey.

"Better not let mum see that," Ron said thoughtfully. "Or Hermione."

Hermione and Ginny were next into the kitchen, both looking fresh and dressed for the day – the opposite of Ron who looked as if he had just woken up, which he had. Hermione frowned when she saw Dobby making breakfast, but wished Harry a happy birthday nonetheless, giving his arm a quick squeeze before sitting down next to Ron. Ginny wished him a happy birthday as well, kissing him on the cheek and lingering for a moment longer than friends would.

Harry sighed and accepted their gifts gratefully. Hermione had, of course, gotten him a book. _A Comprehensive Advanced Study of Non Verbal Spellcasting._

"It might take you a few years to get to that level, Harry," she said. "But reading ahead won't hurt."

Ginny's gift was a lot more practical, so to speak. Harry unwrapped the small parcel and frowned at the stone bowl he held between his hands. It was tiny, wouldn't hold much, but shone as if it were magical – which it was.

"A small pensieve," she explained. "Found it buried in the back of the magical instruments store. The shop owner said you can store about ten memories in there."

"Wow – that's cool," Harry said. "I'm going to go put it upstairs – Dobby, can you handle breakfast on your own?"

Dobby chuckled. "I will find a way to manage without you, Harry Potter sir."

All in all, the rest of the day was good for Harry. Remus and Tonks were around and they wished him a happy birthday and Remus gave him some good news. He'd found a printing press that was up for sale – two, in fact, from an archaic magical instruments store buried deep in Edinburgh. He'd ordered them and they should be delivered within two days. It was his birthday present to Harry.

Neville and Luna, as well as a dozen or so others from the old Hogwarts crew sent him cards and a few chocolates. There was an announcement about it in the _Daily Prophet _and that irked Harry to no end, but he managed to laugh it off as best he could and enjoy the day.

Later that night, after a birthday feast whipped up by Mrs Weasley and a huge cake which Harry would always remember fondly, the Boy Who Lived found himself seated in the window box in Ginny's room, looking out over the dark fields that surrounded the house and up at the star strewn sky.

Ginny herself sat next to him, her hand linked through his and gazing out at the same stars with silent wonder. There were thousands of them, and the moon hung fat in the sky a week or so from full. The forest beyond the field was a dark silhouette beyond the field where the wedding had been held.

Harry found himself, once again, conflicted.

He had been heading up to bed when Ginny called him in here, just wanting to talk and sit, and wish him a final happy birthday before the day was over.

"I was thinking over cake, Gin, that you and I are getting rather close again," Harry said, turning from the stars to see them reflected in her hazel eyes.

"I'm a Weasley, Harry," she replied, giving his hand a squeeze. "You should have some idea about our stubbornness by now. I'm not letting you get away, you know, not for some stupid noble reason like that nonsense you told me after Dumbledore's… funeral."

Harry sighed. "I'm not asking you to let me get away," he whispered. "Just asking you to wait."

Ginny glanced quickly around the room. "Wait while you go off and hunt horcruxes, or fight Voldemort."

Harry frowned. "You don't think I can do it."

"Can you make it on your own?"

"If I have to…."

Ginny punched him in the arm – hard. "But you _don't_ have to, you big goose. I want to fight too, you know. I may not have as strong a reasons as you do, but does that matter? We're all targets now, all who resist."

Harry stared at her for a long moment and then laughed, chuckled under his breath. "Yeah, but you're not at the top of the list. But you'll be close if we go back to seeing each other."

Ginny hissed, frustrated, and kicked her foot against the wall. She served Harry a particularly fierce glare. "Harry," she said slowly, very slowly, and her bottom lip quivered. "I don't care. And if you ever felt anything for me, you wouldn't hurt me like this."

"That's not fair."

"No?" Ginny replied, flicking her long hair back over her shoulder. "And leaving me for Voldemort is?"

Despite himself Harry laughed at that. "Alright, you won a point there, but just… just slow down. I don't want you to die."

Her expression softened, and tears swam in her eyes. Whether of anger, love, pain or sorrow Harry did not know.

"I'd rather die young with you, fighting for a good cause, than watch you and Voldemort battle to the death, never knowing if you're alive or not as you go off hunting and fighting… I _couldn't_ stand that, Harry."

Harry heard her, even understood her, but he kept seeing Cedric lying dead on the cold earth of that godforsaken graveyard, Sirius tumbling backwards through the whispering veil, Dumbledore lying broken at the base of the tower….

He wanted to cry out that he was too dangerous to be around, that anyone who cared enough to stand and protect him ended up dead. History, the last seventeen years, had shown the truth of that time and time again.

But he didn't say that, couldn't say that. Instead he said,

"I think I may love you a little bit, Gin."

Ginny smiled – enough said.

"G'night, kid," Harry said, standing up and brushing Ginny's cheek briefly. "I'm off to bed then. You stay out of trouble, and I'll see you in the morning."

"Night, Harry," Ginny whispered, excitement rushing through her in waves. She felt as if she must be glowing. "_You_ stay out of tro—Harry!"

About halfway across Ginny's room, heading towards the door, Harry simply fell. He blinked, blankness was all he knew, and he didn't feel his glasses break against his face as he hit the carpet unconscious. A brief flare of pain in his scar was all the warning he had before the nightmare began.

_Voldemort strode up the quiet muggle street with his wand clutched gently in his skeletal hand. To his left and right were a handful of Death Eaters – two dozen all up, and each of them marked and masked._

_Low hedges, cars and oak trees, small terraced houses and street lamps made this street appear like the thousands of others dotted all across the country. It was dark, the stars were just as magnificent here, but again it was dark._

_An unnatural darkness, claming the lights on the street and intensifying the purple aura that surrounded the Dark Lord and his servants._

_Harry watched it all from behind a snake-like face, in the mind of the world's most hated man… man was too human to describe Voldemort, however. Creature, monster, villain and snake were closer to the truth than man._

Ah hell,_ Harry thought._ I'm only here because he wants me to be here.

_And that was true. Voldemort had been guarding his mind well since the end of Harry's fifth year. The only reason Harry was here now was because Voldemort had pulled him here. He had gained some measure of control over their scar link. _

_Knowing that, Harry tried his best to throw up his pitiful occlumency shields, but he just didn't have the strength of mind to block himself from the Dark Lord… or the will, really. _

_He wanted to see what was about to happen._

_Voldemort pointed his wand at the heavens, and in a rising plume of acrid smoke and green sparks the Dark Mark hovered in the air, glaring down at the quiet street and casting a pale green light on the world._

"_A message to the fools at the Ministry who still refuse me," Voldemort said, and Harry's mind pulsed at the words. His scar hurt, back on his body, but he felt it as if it blazed on Voldemort's forehead. "And a birthday surprise for the Boy Who Lived."_

_Voldemort's tone was soft, light, mystical even, and he moved with the grace of a snake between his servants. He was sure of himself, very sure, and his confidence scared Harry. He knew what was about to happen..._

"_RAZE THESE HOMES TO THE GROUND!" Voldemort yelled, and pain so fierce assaulted Harry's senses that he would have passed out if he was conscious in his own body._

_As he was now, blissful unconsciousness was denied to him. He had to suffer the pain as best he could, whilst his enemies slaughtered the innocent for the magical world's refusal to surrender, and his refusal to die._

Make it stop…._ Harry whispered, but soon dispelled such thoughts. He gritted his teeth, the teeth in his mind, against the pain, and raged at Voldemort with all his might._

_It was of no use. He had no skill in mind control – he was no legimens, no occlumens. He was useless to these people._

_Screams rent the night air, fire burnt its way through gardens and homes were blasted away under the barrage of curses hurled from the Dark Lord and his servants._

_And then something new… a whisper in Voldemort's mind, the Dark Lord himself spoke to Harry inside his own head._

See the cost, Harry,_ Voldemort thought. _Know the cost. You are mine, and will die a painful death.

_Harry fought through the pain, and unleashed his anger._ YOU COWARD! _he screamed. _These people are defenceless.

Do not dare my wrath, Potter, _Voldemort hissed, whilst his wand cut through the air and sent a car spinning into the side of a house already aflame. _Flee, boy, flee the United Kingdom while you can. Without Dumbledore, you cannot hope to stand against me.

_Harry captured his anger and leashed it down. Cold fury was more intimidating than ranting and raving. He took a deep breath, and then laughed. _I'm not going anywhere, _he said._ But I will stand, Tom, I will. And that terrifies you.

_Harry laughed again, knowing he had struck a nerve._

YOU WILL BEG FOR DEATH! _Voldemort yelled. _You, and those you care for. Be gone, Potter. BE GONE!

_Still laughing, Harry was sent tumbling back through the abyss of his scar link, along deep blood magic and hurled back into his body. The pain ended, he felt a little cold and took a deep…_

breath, coughing once before pulling himself up and wincing as he tasted blood in his mouth. Ginny was next to him, her wand in her hand, and looking beyond frightened. Pale and shaking, she held the tip of her wand against Harry.

"Is that you?" she whispered, her wand hand shaking. "Harry, is that—"

"Who else would it be?" Harry asked, pulling his broken glasses off the bridge of his nose and feeling his face for cuts. He sighed when he felt the deep gouge on the left side of his nose. "What's the matter, Gin?"

Ginny looked at him long and hard before lowering her wand and then, with a cry, threw her arms around him and knocked him back down. Harry _uumph_ed as he hit the carpet again with Ginny atop of him.

"I heard you," she whispered. "I heard you… and I heard _him._ Your mouth was moving, but it wasn't your voice… not all the time. It was V-Voldemort."

Harry swore and, with a little effort, pulled himself out from under Ginny and gained his feet. He swayed a little, helped Ginny up, and then managed a small smile.

"No matter what happens," he told her, "it'll always be me that comes back from… from one of these _possessions._ He can't stand it inside my mind, Gin. Voldemort simply can't take it in there. That's why he has to pull me into his head."

Ginny was shaking and Harry closed his arms around her, hugging her softly. "There, there, kid," he said. "It's all good now."

She pulled away and playfully slapped his chest. "No it isn't," she said, sniffing back tears. "Stop being all brave."

Harry smiled. "Okay… so it's not a laugh a minute, but it will be. I promise you that. I'm gonna make sure of it."

"There you go again," Ginny sighed. "You keep it up and I'll be swooning…."

Harry pulled her close again and held her for just a little longer. His mind was jumping back to that muggle street, however, and how he was powerless to do anything to help those people.

No doubt it would be in the _Prophet_ tomorrow, another cost of the war he was supposed to end.

Harry's resolve was solid, unshakable, but sometimes it seemed to him that the path he walked was unnecessarily hard and set with perils beyond his strength. He had little time, and yet there was still so much left to do.

Pushing it all way for now, he concentrated on nothing but Ginny, on how _right_ she felt in his arms. He did that, and tried to remember a time when life had not been so hard, when he had been normal, and could not.

Such a memory did not exist, not for him.

* * *


End file.
